"Well, then, Ailsa, you are very kind to offer what you did offer. But—I don't like Colonel Arran," he added with a sneer, "and I haven't any overwhelming admiration for Captain Hallam. And there you are, with your kindness and gentleness and—everything—utterly wasted on a dull, sordid brute who had already insulted you once. . . . Shall I leave your kitchen?"
"No," she said faintly. "I am going."
He offered to open the door for her, but she opened it herself, stood motionless, turned, considered him, head high and eyes steady;
"You have killed in me, this night—this Christmas night—something that can never again l-live in me. Remember that in the years to come."
"I'm sorry," he said. "That's the second murder I've attempted.
The other was your soul."
Her eyes flashed.
"Even murderers show some remorse—some regret——"
"I do regret," he said deliberately, "that I didn't kill it. . . .
You would have loved me then."
She turned white as death, then, walking slowly up in front of him:
"You lie!" she said in even tones.