"But you are the one Swartout described to me—the one he's in love with? Miss Mary, it was wrong of you—I looked for months. It was cruel. And when they found the emeralds and the cross——"
"Did they find them?"
"Why, certainly—the stones were all listed, you know. Didn't you read it in the papers?"
"I never see them," she said quietly. She had gathered herself together for what must be the struggle of her life.
"Will you tell him? I can't go back. I'd die first!" she cried.
"But why should you go back?" he asked in amazement. "Surely you'll let them know? They gave up hope long ago. You needn't go back to them, if you're happy here, of course, and indeed, I wouldn't, Miss Mary——"
"I don't mean go back there," she interrupted gently, "I mean to the—to—Dr.——"
He stared.
"You know, of course, what's the matter," she said quietly, "but nobody here does. They think I'm—I'm like anybody else. I don't mind any more, since I've been so busy. I haven't had time to worry over it. But still, I know it.—And so I told Mr. Swartout it would be impossible. It wouldn't be right."
Stanchon seized both of her hands.