"I ask nothing of you, Moira," Jim was pleading again, "only to go with me—away from here—to-night—for your own self-respect."
"An outcast——," sneered Quinlevin.
He saw how the game was going, but he went too far. She turned on him defiantly.
"An outcast!" she said. "I would be proud to be facing the world alone with such an outcast as Jim Horton—the shame and the glory of following blindly where my heart was leading me——"
"Come, then," said Jim.
"No. Don't you see? I can't. What Harry says is true. I married with my eyes open. I swore to a lie. And I've got to abide by that lie. I've got to, Jim. For God's sake, have pity."
She sank helplessly into a chair, relinquishing his hand. All hope, all life, it seemed, had gone out of her. Jim Horton stood regarding her for a moment and then silently walked to the door, when he heard her voice again.
"Jim," she cried despairingly.
He turned in the doorway and their glances met for a moment.
"Will you come, Moira?" he asked quietly.