“Because I’ve done a man’s work for you. I brought on this strike because you wanted it brought on. When you came and begged me to have it called off I moved heaven and earth to carry out your will, but it couldn’t be done. It was too late. I told you it was too late. But I did my best. And what happened? A riot. A bloody, dirty riot. I blasted my own career. These workingmen are through with me. They are cursing me to-night for a coward and a traitor. They can go to hell cursing for all I care. But as for you, I want pay for what I’ve done for you. Do you hear? I want my pay!”
“What kind of pay?”
“I want you.”
“You can’t have me.”
She straightened up in her chair and looked him resolutely in the eyes. She saw his lip working but no sound came from them. It was a full minute before he regained the use of his voice. Then he asked, calmly enough:
“Why can’t I have you?”
“Because I don’t love you. No other reason is necessary.”
“I’ll make you love me; if not to-night, then to-morrow; if not to-morrow, then next day. Oh, I can do it. You know I can do it.”
He leaned across the table toward her and continued: