the upper floor of the inn. Anne's nerves could support it no longer.
She flung her cards on the table, and sprang to her feet.

"I can play no more," she said. "Forgive me--I am quite unequal to it.
My head burns! my heart stifles me!"

She began to pace the room again. Aggravated by the effect of the storm
on her nerves, her first vague distrust of the false position into which
she and Arnold had allowed themselves to drift had strengthened, by this
time, into a downright horror of their situation which was not to be
endured. Nothing could justify such a risk as the risk they were now
running! They had dined together like married people--and there they
were, at that moment, shut in together, and passing the evening like man
and wife!

"Oh, Mr. Brinkworth!" she pleaded. "Think--for Blanche's sake, think--is
there no way out of this?"

Arnold was quietly collecting the scattered cards.

"Blanche, again?" he said, with the most exasperating composure. "I
wonder how she feels, in this storm?"

In Anne's excited state, the reply almost maddened her. She turned from
Arnold, and hurried to the door.

"I don't care!" she cried, wildly. "I won't let this deception go on.
I'll do what I ought to have done before. Come what may of it, I'll tell
the landlady the truth!"