"Will you stay here? I've got something to say to you."
"Oh?"
She wheeled about. His face was a sickly greenish white in the heavy shade of the trees.
"It's—it's—something I've been wanting to say—tell you … as well now as any time."
"Oh, very well. I must write just one letter."
She ran into the house and up the stairs and shut herself in the library, breathless, panic-stricken. He was going to confess! How awful! How awful! How could she ever go through with it? Why, why, hadn't she spoken at once and got it over?
She sat quite still until she had ceased trembling and her heart no longer pounded and affected her breathing. Then she set her teeth and went downstairs.
CHAPTER XII
I
Mortimer was walking up and down the hall.