She hesitated, then, "Yes. If I admitted to you that I loved you, I would always have had her to fight. And I couldn't. She spoke to me about you day before yesterday, and I saw that she would do anything to prevent us loving each other. I did not believe what she said about you. But it showed me to what lengths she would go, and I was afraid. Fighting her would mean the end of your friendship with John, of your connection with Dorning and Son. Oh, I realize the grip she has upon John. If it came to a choice between you and her, you know which he would keep. And I was not sure what your feeling for me might turn to if I were the cause of a break between you and John. Mrs. Dorning is clever, fascinating, and, I am afraid, quite relentless. I know her feelings toward you and how hard she has tried to——"
He cut in savagely, "Have I ever given you any reason to suppose that Elise and I——"
"No. Not you," she interrupted quietly. "I have overheard you talking to her on the telephone several times. I know how you have sought to avoid her. I can speak frankly about her to you, I think. You will know that I am not moved by jealousy or a desire to gossip or anything petty. But she has called John's office several times from the Van Clair Hotel, for instance, on occasions when she knew he was not here and was to meet her somewhere later. She has given me messages over the 'phone for him, and each time I heard voices laughing and shouting near her. One evening when I passed the Van Clair on the way to the subway, she got out of a taxi with a strange man and went in. That place had a bad reputation, you know. It is just as well for New York that it has burned down."
He stared at her, startled, and, striving to make the question casual. "There was a fire at the Van Clair? When?"
"Why, night before last, just after midnight. It was in all the papers. It burned to the ground."
Dismay gripped him, and he turned away quickly so that she could not see his face. At once Mary read that it had something to do with her, and she laid her hand upon his shoulder, her face flushed and smiling.
She said softly, "Perhaps it was that fire, the feeling it brought that we never know what will happen, never realize how short a time we may have to rectify a mistake, that showed me how wrong I was day before yesterday. I love you, Rodrigo. I will be your wife—if you still want me."
He turned a stricken face to her. He was held in a sudden fear and foreboding. He had hardly heard what she had said. And he had no time to answer her, for the door of his office was flung violently open and John Dorning, excited, disheveled, burst upon them.
"Rodrigo!" he cried from the door. Then, coming forward, "Thank God. I found you here."
He looked so badly that Mary asked in alarm, "You're ill, John. Can I do anything for you?"