"By what right," he asked, "do you come to me—by what right do you put me in this position?"
She found at once her answer. She knew her winning card, and instinct told her the moment for playing it, for, lie or no, this was what she had come to say.
"Because I love you," she said, and knew not if it was the truth.
In the pause that followed she saw that her speech had had all the effect, and more, that she could have hoped, or dreaded, or desired.
She saw the shock drive the blood into his face, saw him put out his hand as if to stop her—open his lips and stand dumb.
"You must have known," she said.
He could not speak. He thrust back the pomaded curls from his flushed forehead and stared on the ground; she felt herself swept into the position of conqueror, felt herself in full measure repaid.
"You wooed and won me," she breathed. "You made me love you, I—it cannot happen twice, words are so foolish—but you must understand that I gave myself to you, and you cannot dare reject me now, only, I am at your mercy."
"No," he answered, lifting his head. "I am at yours—what do you want with me?"
His expression frightened her, but she clung to her advantage.