She paused, breathing hard, still struggling with a sense of outrage. Her words had not been devoid of a certain sting, and once or twice Morris had inwardly winced beneath the onslaught. But circumstances placed every advantage—every weapon of lasting keenness—into his hands. Thus it was with unruffled complacency that he declared—
"My dear Evarne, could you not contrive to conquer this tendency to wax melodramatic? You know I dislike it, and that it is always ineffective."
He waited a minute, half expecting her to answer. But obedient to his expressed will Evarne succeeded in stifling all retorts, and remained silent. Looking at her narrowly, he could see signs of the effort she made over herself, and smiled a little before he continued—
"You force me to speak more plainly than I had hoped would be necessary. Surely you must know that I do not really need to adduce any exterior or subsequent details of your career in support of my very natural objection to this marriage. The one fact of your having been my mistress is alone all-sufficient. Understand that, please! You calmly ask me to allow Geoffrey to walk blindly into the trap you have set for him, and hurl insults at my head when I refuse! I should like to know what you expected? Did you really believe I should become a party to this deceit?"
But again he received no answer. Evarne simply looked at him with eyes that had grown somewhat dilated.
"I know he is absolutely without any suspicion," Morris went on, "for only yesterday the poor fool spoke of you in a strain that almost caused me to laugh in his face."
It needed such words, uttered in tones of such supreme contempt, to bring home to Evarne the way in which others must view the position in which she had placed Geoffrey. The knowledge assailed her cruelly. A physical pain, keen as a knife, shot through her forehead from one temple to the other. Crossing to the sofa, she sat down, twisted her hands tightly together, shut her eyes, and waited while the sharp pang gradually passed away.
Without turning right round, Morris was no longer able to see her. Accordingly, he got up and sank into the arm-chair she had vacated. But a minute later Evarne was on her knees by his side. The new horror that his last words had aroused, goaded her into making yet another effort at persuasion. Leaning against the soft, wide arm of the chair, she cried somewhat wildly—
"No, I haven't told him, because somehow the occasion never seemed to come until he loved me so much that I couldn't endure to speak the cruel truth. And you mustn't tell him now, Morris—oh, you mustn't! If only you will keep silent, neither he nor anybody else will ever know."
"So you flatter yourself, but these things always leak out."