“I deny your charges,” he said, keeping his self-control with difficulty.
“What is the use?” Beatrice sighed wearily. “It was owing entirely to your influence that my home became unendurable. Mrs. Trevor did everything in her power to force me to accept you.”
Under his breath, Clark muttered a remark that was not complimentary to the dead woman.
“Beatrice,” he said, gently, “in your sheltered life you know little of the temptations, of the evil of this world. Before I came to your father, I had knocked about from pillar to post and been thrown with all sorts and conditions of men and women. The least said about the latter the better.” He smiled unpleasantly. “Then I met you, so kind, so courteous to the poor secretary. Is it any wonder that I lost my head, and built castles in the air? As week followed week my admiration for you changed to passionate love. God knows, you never gave me any encouragement. But I have hoped on, my starved heart feeding on every stray crumb of attention that you showed me.
“Beatrice, Beatrice, look at me.” He flung back his head, shaking his black hair off his broad forehead, his handsome face alight with feeling; and he drew his well-knit, slender figure to his full height. “Am I deformed? Am I hateful to look upon? My darling, my dear, dear one, give me but a chance.”
Beatrice’s face softened. He was making it very hard for her. As she hesitated, he caught the look of pity in her beautiful eyes, mistook it, and springing forward clasped her in his arms, showering frantic kisses on her brow, face and lips.
Desperately Beatrice struggled to free herself. With superhuman strength she thrust him from her.
“You coward—you coward!” she cried.
Clark stood a short distance from her, panting a little from his emotions.
“You coward,” reiterated Beatrice, “to take advantage of a defenseless woman!”