"Then, Muriel. Muriel, don't try to bluff it out. You can't do it: you are not naturally a liar, and the successful liar is born, not made."
"How have you made an end?"
"By coming back from Avignon; by never going farther away than Avignon."
"You mean that you think—that you dare to think that I—that the Captain and—that we——"
"I don't think," said Stainton in a tone still restrained; "I know. Given what your temperament has shown itself to be; given, too, the preliminary circumstances; remembering that von Klausen came to this house——"
"At your invitation!"
"Oh, yes, he came at my invitation. But remembering that he remained alone with you in this room until after midnight—I say, given all these facts, and then adding the determining piece of evidence that I wanted—the evidence of seeing you in his arms—no man in his senses would for one moment doubt——"
"Don't say it! Don't you dare to say it!" She sprang back from him, her disordered hair tossed blackly about her face, her deep eyes blazing.
"Muriel," he cried, "are you still going to say——"
"I am going to say that I hate you! I say that after to-night I will never look at you again! I say I loathe you! I hate you! You liar! You unclean-minded old man!"