He turned away, striking his fist in his palm, and went across to the window.
For nearly five minutes neither spoke. Dorothy, torn by emotions too great to be longer restrained, had controlled her sobs almost immediately, but she had not dared to raise her eyes. She sat up at last, and with gaze averted from the figure against the square of light, composed herself as best she might.
"What is there we can do?" she said at last. "If you wish to be released from your—your position——"
"We won't talk of that," he interrupted, still looking out on the roofs below. "I'm in this to stay—till you dismiss me and bid me forget it—forget it and you—forever. But I need your help."
"I have made it very hard, I know," she said. "If I've acted deceitfully, it was the only way I thought I could do."
"Please tell me about this man Fairfax," he requested, keeping his back toward her as before. "You married him, where?"
"At Rockbeach, Massachusetts."
She was businesslike again.
"To satisfy the condition in your uncle's will?"
"No," the confession came slowly, but she made it with courage. "I had known him for quite a long time. He had—he had courted me a year. He was always a gentleman, cultured, refined, and fascinating in many ways. I thought I was in—I thought I was fond of him, very. He was brilliant—and romantic—and possessed of many qualities that appealed to me strongly. I'm quite sure now he exercised some spell upon me—but he was kind—and I believed him—that's all."