“This,” she cried, in a passion. “You have no more feeling than the ground beneath your feet! Haven’t I seen, haven’t I known? Aunt Peace died, and you did not care—you only thought it was unpleasant. You play like a machine, a mountebank. Tricks with the violin—tricks with words! And yet you dare to say you love me!”
“Iris! Darling!” cried Lynn, stung to the quick. “Don’t!”
“Once for all I will have my say. To-morrow I go out of your house forever. I have no right here, no place. I am an intruder, and I am going away. You will never see me again, never as long as you live. You, a machine, a clod, a trickster, a thing without a heart—you shall not insult me again!”
White to the lips, trembling like a leaf, Iris shook herself free and ran up to her room.
Lynn drew a long, shuddering breath. “God!” he whispered, clenching his hands tightly. “God!”