“I often believe you detest me.”
“Oh, as for that, a woman such as you are can be loved and hated almost at the same time. But she can’t be given up. No!”
As she looked at him she saw the red gleam of the torch he carried. Hers had long ago died out into blackness.
“Is it possible that you really wish to ruin my reputation?”
“Not a bit of it! You’re so clever that you can always guard against that.”
“Yes, I can when I’m dealing with gentlemen,” she said, with sudden, vicious sharpness. “But you are behaving like a cad. Of all the men I—”
She stopped. A sort of nervous fury possessed her. It had nearly driven her to make a false step. And yet—would it be a false step? As she paused, looking at Dion, marking the hard obstinacy in his eyes, feeling the hard, hot grip of his hand, it occurred to her that perhaps she had blundered upon the one way out, the way of escape. Amid the wreckage of his beliefs she knew that Dion still held to one belief, which had been shaken once, but which her cool adroitness had saved and made firm in a critical moment. If she destroyed it now would he let her go? Just how low had he fallen through her? She wished she knew. But she did not know, and she waited, looking at him.
“Go on!” he said. “Of all the men you—what?”
“How low down is he? How low down?” she asked herself.
“Can you go on?” he said harshly.