Just for a moment the girl's mask was dropped as she made her final demand.
It was only for a moment, but long enough for Frank to see the depth of her love for him shining in her dark eyes. The desire then and there to take her in his arms, and throw every resolution to the winds, was well-nigh overpowering, but he put it from him, and the effort left him speechless.
"Frank?" she urged.
But still the man remained silent.
"Do you know, dear, you'd have been more merciful if you'd brutally struck me in the face with your great big fist, instead of sending me that letter. You see, you'd sure have left me senseless."
The subtle appeal was too much for the man. His face flushed with a shame that swept through his heart.
"But what could I do, Phyl? I had to tell you. I had to give you—your freedom. You could never marry a—convict."
Phyllis's mask of lightness returned to her face. She meant to hit this man she loved, hard. It took all her courage to do it, and the only possible chance she had was to laugh with it.
"A convict?" she cried. "Oh, Frank, I could marry a convict far, far easier than a—present-day Socialist."
The thrust drove straight home, and, witnessing the havoc she had wrought, the girl consoled herself with the thought that hers had been the plunging of the surgeon's knife that the healing of this man might be the surer, the more complete.