"Yes—my father told!" The tremor in her voice had grown to sharp sobs—of shame, agony, and wrath. "My father brought all this on you. And it's all because of me. If you both hadn't tried to be good to me, my father would not have been here and everything would have turned out right. It's all because of me!—all my fault!—don't you see? I know you'll both hate me now. I know you'll want me to go away. Well—I'm going. But I want to tell you how sorry I am—how sorry!... Good-bye."
David wanted to speak to her, but this was Rogers's affair rather than his.
She swept them both with her brimming eyes. "Good-bye," she said again, and turned to the door.
"Miss Morgan!" called Rogers.
She paused and looked at him.
"Don't go yet."
He rose and came to her with outstretched hand. "It wasn't your fault."
She stared dazedly at him. "You're ruined—you told me so last night, and I did it. Yes, I did it."
"No. You couldn't help it. You mustn't go at all."
She took his hand slowly, in astonishment. "Oughtn't I to go?" she quavered.