"Don't touch me!" she said, shrinking from him.
"For God's sake tell me what's the matter," he begged.
She looked up at him and tried to speak, struggling against the sobs that shook her.
"I—I came here to—to kill you—only I can't do it."
"To kill me!" he said, after a pause. In spite of the fact that he had half divined her intention, the words shocked him. Whatever else may be said of him, he did not lack courage, his alarm was not of a physical nature. Mingled with it were emotions he himself did not understand, caused by the unwonted sight of her loss of self-control, of her anger, and despair. "Why did you want to kill me?"
And again he had to wait for an answer.
"Because you've spoiled my life—because I'm going to have a child!"
"What do you mean? Are you?… it can't be possible."
"It is possible, it's true—it's true. I've waited and waited, I've suffered, I've almost gone crazy—and now I know. And I said I'd kill you if it were so, I'd kill myself—only I can't. I'm a coward." Her voice was drowned again by weeping.
A child! He had never imagined such a contingency! And as he leaned back against the desk, his emotions became chaotic. The sight of her, even as she appeared crazed by anger, had set his passion aflame—for the intensity and fierceness of her nature had always made a strong appeal to dominant qualities in Ditmar's nature. And then—this announcement! Momentarily it turned his heart to water. Now that he was confronted by an exigency that had once vicariously yet deeply disturbed him in a similar affair of a friend of his, the code and habit of a lifetime gained an immediate ascendency—since then he had insisted that this particular situation was to be avoided above all others. And his mind leaped to possibilities. She had wished to kill him—would she remain desperate enough to ruin him? Even though he were not at a crisis in his affairs, a scandal of this kind would be fatal.