CHAPTER XXI
IT was spoken—the one word, so brief, so significant; and Jacqueline stood hesitating, pleading, equally ready to rush forward or to fly.
At last Max spoke.
"Why do you call me that?"
The tone in which the question was put was extremely low, the gray eyes were steady almost to coldness, the strong, slight fingers began mechanically to fold up the hair, strand upon strand.
Jacqueline's candle swayed, until a stream of the melted wax guttered to the floor.
"Because—"
"Yes?"
"Because—oh, because—because—I have always known!"