Then he wheeled to Columbine, and as if he had just recognized her, a change that was pitiful and shocking convulsed his face. He leaned toward her, pointing with shaking, accusing hand.
"I saw you--up there. I watched--you," he panted.
Columbine faced him, white and mute.
"It was you--wasn't it?" he yelled.
"Yes, of course it was."
She might have struck him, for the way he flinched.
"What was that--a trick--a game--a play all fixed up for my benefit?"
"I don't understand you," she replied.
"Bah! You--you white-faced cat!... I saw you! Saw you in Moore's arms! Saw him hug you--kiss you!... Then--I saw--you put up your arms--round his neck--kiss him--kiss him--kiss him!... I saw all that--didn't I?"
"You must have, since you say so," she returned, with perfect composure.