“Again I must say that I can only explain your charges by supposing that you are out of your head.”
“Here in Westville you believe it is not woman’s business to think about politics,” Katherine went on, in her voice of pain. “But I could not help thinking about them, and watching them. I have lost my faith in the old parties, but I had kept my faith in some of their leaders. I believe some of them honest, devoted, indomitable. And of them all, the one I admired most, ranked highest, was you. And now—and now—oh, Mr. Blake!—to learn that you——”
“Katherine! Katherine!” And he raised his hands with the manner of exasperated, yet indulgent, helplessness.
“Mr. Blake, you know you are now only playing a part! And you know that I know it!” She moved up to him eagerly. “Listen to me,” she pleaded rapidly. “You have only started on this, you have not gone too far to turn back. You have done no real wrong as yet, save to my father, and I know my father will forgive you. Drop your plan—let my father be honourably cleared—and everything will be just as before!”
For a space he seemed shaken by her words. She watched him, breathless, awaiting the outcome of the battle she felt was waging within him.
“Drop the plan—do!—do!—I beg you!” she cried.
His dark face twitched; a quivering ran through his body. Then by a mighty effort he partially regained his mastery.
“There is no plan for me to drop,” he said huskily.
“You still cling to the part you are playing?”
“I am playing no part; you are all wrong about me,” he continued. “Your charges are so absurd that it would be foolish to deny them. They are merely the ravings of an hysterical woman.”