“I do not wonder at it,” she murmured. “You have a right to be shocked at my boldness; but it is true—oh, so true!”
“This is fearful!” muttered Carlos, moved to compassion. “I am very sorry, unutterably sorry. Let me tell you at once——”
“Do not tell me,” she moaned. “You are disgusted with my presumption; you need not say the words.”
“I must say them,” said Carlos, firmly, yet gently. “Your wild dream must be dispelled at once. It is preposterous; it is unaccountable to me.”
“Oh, Carlos Conrad——”
At this second mention of his true name he recoiled, and realized the fact that his secret was known.
“Why do you call me by that name?” he demanded.
“Do not feign surprise,” she said, turning toward him. “I have known you for weeks. I said I could never forget your face, and I never have. I tried to contrive ways of meeting you, but failed. At last I hit on the experiment of the music-lessons, and you know the result. You cannot deny your name. Yes, I know you, and love you.”
There were desperation and defiance in her air and tone.
“Well,” said Carlos, who saw that it would be useless to try to deceive her, “why did you do such a rash thing? Why did you disguise yourself as the detective, and effect my escape?”