Claire sank into a chair and struggled against the starting sobs. It seemed to her that her whole life was becoming one continual argument wherein she was accused and in return forced to demand explanations.
"What in the world do you mean?" she faltered. "Are you saying that Philip and I are lovers?"
"Aren't you?"
"Of course not! It isn't like you to say that. And what if we were?"
"It wouldn't be any of my business, would it?" He was bitter.
"I suppose not," she said, weakly.
"You needn't be hesitant about admitting it. It's true," he went on. "Why shouldn't it be? I am a mere piece of excess baggage which you are too kind-hearted to eliminate. I know that, too. Why shouldn't you eliminate me?" He smiled, satirically. "If I were Philip Ortez, loving you and loved in return, I would feel like killing the blind man, whose presence hampered."
She stared at him, wondering if he were in earnest.
"Then it's fortunate that you haven't the opportunity to feel that way."
"Obviously." He laughed, sullenly. "I sha'n't, because you couldn't love a blind man."