"Because you are afraid you will end by being my lover?"
"No. Because I wish to be free of spies and hindrances."
"Then I do hinder? You know my spying has not hurt you!" Her eyes glowed.
Michael gazed sternly into them. He never lied. With him the truth was instinctive, masterful; it was the keynote of his religion. "Yes," he said. "You are a spiritual hindrance. I am a human man—you are a sensual woman. You have determined to do everything in your power to keep me ever mindful of the fact. Because I love Margaret Lampton and I do not love you, you have determined to make me unworthy of her, you have trapped me and tricked me and followed me into the wilderness."
"You must admit I managed that part of the job very neatly." Millicent's words were brave, but a little fear had crept into her heart. Michael was in no mood for trifling. Her game was lost.
"How did you do it?" he said. His hands tightened; they held her shoulders. The gentle aesthete was a furious Celt. He wished that it was a man with whom he was dealing.
Still Millicent was brave, her voice scornful. "Baksheesh—the moving finger in the East."
"You contemptible creature!" he said. "Who did you pay?"
"That would be telling."
"I know it would," he said. "And you are going to tell me." He held her with painful firmness.