"You don't know this Kern!"
"I do know him, and I know that he's human. I've seen him beaten once already."
"By Sinclair! You keep coming back to him!"
"Jude, if you do this thing for me," she said steadily, "I'll go back with you. I don't love you, but if I go back I'll keep you from a great deal of shameful talk. I'm sorry, truly, that I left. I couldn't help it. It was an impulse that—took me by the throat. And if I go back I'll honestly try to make you a good wife."
She faltered a little before that last word, and her voice fell. But Jude Cartwright was wholly fascinated by the color in her face, and the softness of her voice he mistook for a sudden rise of tenderness.
"They's only one thing I got to ask—you and Sinclair—have you ever—I mean—have you ever told him you're pretty fond of him—that you love him?" He blurted it out, stammering.
Certainly she knew that her answer was a lie, though it was true in the letter.
"I have never told him so," she said firmly. "But I owe him a great debt—he must not die because he's a gentleman, Jude."
All the time she was speaking, he watched her with ferret sharpness, thinking busily. Before she ended he had reached his decision.
"I'm going to raise that mob."