"The other thing concerns you," I went on, somehow reluctant now to tell
this. "You remember how I heard Wright making you out vile to Miss
Sampson? Swore you'd never come back? Well, after he had gone, when
Sally said he'd meant you'd be killed, Miss Sampson felt bad about it.
She said she ought to be glad if someone killed you, but she couldn't
be. She called you a bloody ruffian, yet she didn't want you shot.

"She said some things about the difference between your hideous
character and your splendid stature. Called you a magnificent
fellow--that was it. Well, then she choked up and confessed something to
Sally in shame and disgrace."

"Shame--disgrace?" echoed Steele, greatly interested. "What?"

"She confessed she had been taken with you--had her little dream about
you. And she hated herself for it."

Never, I thought, would I forget Vaughn Steele's eyes. It did not
matter that it was dark; I saw the fixed gleam, then the leaping,
shadowy light.

"Did she say that?" His voice was not quite steady. "Wonderful! Even if
it only lasted a minute! She might--we might--If it wasn't for this
hellish job! Russ, has it dawned on you yet, what I've got to do to
Diane Sampson?"

"Yes," I replied. "Vaughn, you haven't gone sweet on her?"

What else could I make of that terrible thing in his eyes? He did not
reply to that at all. I thought my arm would break in his clutch.