"An immoral thing," she answered.
"Good heavens!" I exclaimed, throwing down my palette, and rising to confront her. "I don't believe it."
"I mean," she stammered—the blood rushing into her face and then leaving her white as she spoke—"something which you will consider so.
"I cannot believe it," I reiterated.
"But it is true. He says so."
"He—who, in God's name?"
"Lorrimer."
"And who on earth is Lorrimer?"
"That is what I came to tell you," she answered, faintly.
I gathered up my palette and brushes, and sat down to my easel again.