"That is true—all of it," she said. A shudder passed over her. "I hate him!"
"What!" he cried, advancing toward her in amazement. "You hate him and yet you will marry him?"
"Yes. Because I can't bear to give up anything—because I am a weak, selfish woman."
In a flash he saw her as she would be—this woman who now stood before him twisting and turning in half-sincere outbursts, seeking to excuse or accuse herself before his eyes from the need of dramatic sensations.
"You will be," he said quietly. "So you are going to marry Boskirk?"
She nodded.
"Soon, very soon?"
She winced under the note of sarcasm in his voice and turned breathlessly:
"Oh, Bojo—you despise me!"
"No—" he said indifferently. He held out his hand. "Well, we have said all we have to say, haven't we?"