"Give me that bottle," she said, quietly.
But, as the dark blue phial with its orange label slipped from Paul Vespan's nerveless fingers to hers, the little upholsteress burst into tears.
"Don't cry," said the man, hoarsely. "I am not worth it."
"You never meant it. No, my poor boy, no. You were unhappy—tired. It was all a mistake."
He fell back, gasping, against the wall.
"You had no right——"
"It would have been easier than—did you ever see anyone die of—starvation——?"
"You are not——"
"Yes, I am."