“You mean he does not exist.”
“I mean that if he did, it would be quite my own affair, wouldn’t it?”
“No. If you play a dangerous game and lose, Oswald Kane loses with you. If any man discovers the truth about you, it means your professional death as well as mine.”
“You need never worry—about that.”
[51]
] Whether it was the hopeless note in her voice or the look in her eyes, his voice softened. He went close to her.
“There is just one,” he whispered, “who knows you as you are. Lisa Parsinova has the right to no man’s love but Oswald Kane’s. Forget those New England prejudices!”
She dropped quickly into a chair. “Lisa Parsinova has the right to no man’s love at all.”
Her eyes closed. Her voice went on monotonously.
“You see, I’ve thought it all out. I’ve swamped the girl I was and it’s as final as if I’d killed her. One of these days, perhaps—when my contract with you has been filled—Parsinova will sail back to Russia or be drowned or something, and out of her ashes will rise a spinster named Lizzie Parsons who doesn’t really matter, who’ll just pass out—alone. But until then you are quite safe. Only—please—never speak again of—of loving me.”
Kane bowed. “You are a great artiste, in spite of that. And at least you cannot deny me the joy of the creator.”