“Revenge!” exclaimed Miss Coates indignantly. “It is my duty. My public duty. I’m not alone in this; I am acting with the District Attorney. It is our duty.” She turned suddenly and called, “Mr. Winthrop, Mr. Winthrop!”
For the first time Vera saw, under the gas jet, at the farther end of the hall, the figures of Mannie and Winthrop.
“No, no!” she protested, “I beg of you,” she cried hysterically. “I’ve got a chance. If you print this thing tomorrow, I’ll never have a chance again. Don’t take it away from me.” Impulsively her arms reached out in an eager final appeal. “I’m down,” she said simply, “give me a chance to get up.”
When Miss Coates came to give battle to the Vances, she foresaw the interview might be unpleasant. It was proving even more unpleasant than she had expected, but her duty seemed none the less obvious.
“You should have thought of that,” she said, “before you were found out.”
For an instant Vera stood motionless, staring, unconsciously holding the attitude of appeal. But when, by these last words, she recognized that her humiliation could go no further, with an inarticulate exclamation she turned away.
“The public has the right to know,” declared Miss Coates, “the sort of people you are. I have the record of each of you—”
From the hall Winthrop had entered quickly, but, disregarding him, Vance broke in upon the speaker, savagely, defiantly.
“Print em, then!” he shouted, “print em!”
“I mean to,” declared Miss Coates, “yours, and hers, she—”