"What could I do?"
"You've had time, since the performance, to get away!"
"Where to?" asked Denny.
If it was the simplicity of despair it affected the distraught and baffled Herrick like the simplicity of some subtle and fiendish triumph. Not for nothing had he observed the calm of the French marquis. Taking a violent hold on himself, "Do you realize—" he demanded, "what you're admitting?"
"The mark of Cain?" said the other, with his faint smile. "Oh, yes!"
Herrick incredulously demanded, "You don't deny it?"
"Deny it? Why, yes, I deny it. I'm not looking for trouble and I deny it absolutely. But what then? Will anybody believe me? Between friends, do you believe me? Well—what's the use?"
"You've no proofs? No defense?"
"None whatever!—And I've been playing villains here for four years! My dear fellow, don't blush! I'm complimented to find that you, too, are hit by that impression. And I shan't tell Christina!"
"If I could see by what damned theatrical trick you go about admitting all this!"