"Well?" she asked defiantly.
Norton's words were hurled at her, each one a solid shot:
"Would you have given up that child without a struggle—if she had really been your own?"
"Why—what—do you—mean?" Cleo asked, her eyes shifting.
"You know what I mean. If Helen is really your child, why did you give her up so easily that day?"
"Why?" she repeated blankly.
"Answer my question!"
With an effort she recovered her composure:
"You know why! I was mad. I was a miserable fool. I did it because you asked it. I did it to please you, and I've cursed myself for it ever since."
Norton's grip slowly relaxed, and he turned thoughtfully away. The woman's hand went instinctively to the bruises he had left on her arms as she stepped back nearer the door and watched him furtively.