She seemed about to faint and looked very frightened—perhaps my face was more expressive than a gentleman's should be.
"It was only a little thing for my birthday," she whined. "Can't I keep it? Don't be a tyrant or a fool."
"Your next birthday or your last?" I asked. "Please get it at once.
We'll settle matters quietly and finally."
I fear the poor girl had visions of the doorstep and a closed door. Two, perhaps, for I am sure Burker would not have taken her in if I had turned her out, and she may have thought the same.
It was a diamond ring, and the scoundrel must have given a couple of months' pay for it—if he had paid for it at all. I thrust aside the sudden conviction that Burker's own taste could not have been responsible for its choice and that it was selected by my wife.
"Why should he give you this, Dolores?" I asked. "Will you tell me or must I go to him?" And then she burst into tears and flung herself at my feet, begging for mercy.
Mercy!
Qui s'excuse s'accuse.
What should I do?
To cast her out was to murder her soul quickly and her body slowly, and
I could foresee her career with prophetic eye and painful clearness.