"Ah! And you say you love her!" broke in Mrs. Gantry. "What love is it that would stand between her and happiness—that would compel her to sacrifice her life, out of gratitude to you?"
Blake bent over and asked in a dull murmur: "You are sure it's that?"
"Indeed, yes! How can it be otherwise?—a girl of her breeding; and you—what you are!"
Blake bent over still lower, and all his fortitude could not repress the groan that rose to his lips. Mrs. Gantry watched him closely, her face set in its suave smile, but her eyes hard and cold. She went on, without a sign of compunction: "But I now believe you are possessed of sterling qualities, else I should not have troubled to speak the truth to you."
She paused to emphasize what was to follow. "There is only one way for you to save her. She is too generous to save herself. I believe that you really love her. You can prove it by—" again she paused—"going away."
Blake bent over on the table and buried his face in his arms. His smothered groan would have won him the compassion of a savage. It was the cry of a strong man crushed under an unbearable burden. Mrs. Gantry was not a savage. Her eyes sparkled coldly.
"You will go away. You will prove your love for her," she said.
Certain that she had accomplished what she had set out to do, she returned to the cardroom, and left her victim to his misery and despair.