"It is going to be harder than I thought. I hoped at least that I could keep what was in my heart a secret. When my secret was my own it did not seem as if I was doing any injustice to—to Jeff. It was my heart that was breaking—not his. What did my secrets matter as long as I did my duty? But now that you share the burden I know that I am doing him a great wrong—a greater wrong even than he has done to you. I can't blame you for coming here. It is hard to forgive a wrong like that. But with me it is different. No matter what Jeff has done, what he may do, my duty is very clear—my duty to him, and even to you. I don't know just how—I must have time to think it out for myself. One thing is certain: I must not see you again."
He waved a hand in deprecation. "That is so easy to say. You shall see me again," he threatened. "I will not give you up."
"You must! I will find some excuse to leave New York."
"I'll follow you," doggedly. "You're mine."
She paused in dismay. Were all the odds to be against her? A sudden terror gripped her heart and left her supine. She summoned her strength with an effort.
"Cort!" she cried desperately. "You must not speak to me like that. I will not listen. You don't know what you are saying."
"I don't care what I'm saying—you have driven me mad." As he rose, she retreated, still facing him, her lips pale, her eyes bright, her face drawn but resolved.
"And I," she said clearly, "I am sane again. If you follow—I will ring. Do you hear?"
Her hand sought the wall, then was arrested in mid air. A sound of voices, the ringing of a bell, and the soft patter of a servant's steps in the corridor brought Cortland Bent to his senses.
"It's Jeff," she whispered breathlessly; and then with a quiet air of self-command, the dignity of a well-bred hostess, "Will you sit down, Mr. Bent? I will ring for tea."