All the caution, all the craft, all that she had counted upon as the real Wesley Dyker seemed to have escaped him. His voice was still low, but in every other respect he was a raging beast.
She fought with him, mentally and physically.
"You can't get anything out of her that way," Violet urged, as the man twisted under her strong hands. "Of course she'll say it's all lies. And you'd only be warning her. You don't want her to know that you know; you want a chance to block her game."
Partly convinced by this argument and partly subdued by the physical restraint that accompanied it, Dyker ceased his struggles.
"But I want to be sure," he muttered sullenly.
"You can't be sure by goin' to Miss Rose."
"Well, I ought to tell her." The high tide of his anger was slowly subsiding, and the rocky Dyker that she had built on was beginning to show its crest above the still hissing waves. "Look here, Violet," he said, "I'm sorry I behaved like such a fool. I beg your pardon, but you must see that I have got to put this thing up to Rose."
"You forget your promise."
"No, I don't, but I must make sure."
Violet thought rapidly.