She deliberated a moment.
"You've got to prove it to me. He said he was coming back to the studio to-day. Instead, you came—in the uniform he wore. He didn't give it to you willingly——"
"Yes," he lied sullenly. "He gave it to me. There wasn't anything else to do when I turned up. He realized he couldn't stay here—with you." And then, "Oh, he was square enough about it."
There was a long pause. He didn't ring true. She had almost forgotten, as he had, what he had said in the fury of his jealousy. She was aware that he had risen unsteadily from his chair and was approaching her.
"So here, Moira," he said in an ingratiating tone. "I'm not a bad sort—really I'm not. I—I was out of my head awhile ago—the way you came up to me, thinking I was him. I guess I wanted to hurt you—the way you had hurt me. I'm sorry. I won't touch your fingers even, if you don't want me to. I was a rotter to try to kiss you. I ought to have known you didn't want me to—when I—I had had one or two too many. I've been worried too—devilish worried about the whole thing. Let's forget it and talk the thing over sensibly. There may be a way out. I don't want any honors that don't belong to me, but I don't want to be dismissed from the service, either, or shot—on Jim's account. But we've got to keep this thing quiet."
She understood his drift. The facts in her possession made her dangerous.
"It can't be kept quiet, so long as Jim Horton is in danger."
"Who said he was in danger? I said he'd quit——"
"But you lied. He hasn't quit. He isn't the quitting kind. He was to have come to me to-day, and told me the truth—I didn't know what it all meant then. But I do now. He has got to have his chance."
She saw him glare at her somberly.