she seemed tacitly to take the truth of all his accusations for granted.

"Don't you see," he presently went on, almost in a coaxing tone, "that
it's for your own good that you should have to go away? I won't
believe--I can't--that you like this underground, hole-and-corner
existence, this life that is dishonest all through. Come, now, confess
that you don't like it--that you only live like this because you can't
help it, or because you think you can't help it--and I'll forgive you."

There was a long pause. Then he heard a little, hard, cynical laugh. He
tried hard to see her face; but although he caught now and then a gleam
of the great eyes, the wonderful eyes that had fascinated him, he could
not distinguish the expression, hardly even the outline of her features.

When she at last spoke, it was in a reckless, willful tone.

"Forgive me! What have you to forgive, except that I was fool enough to
ask you into the house? And if you've suffered for that, it seems I
shall have to, too, in the long run; and I'm not going to say I don't
like the life, for I like it better than any I've lived before."

"What!"

"Yes, yes, I tell you. I'm not a heroine, ready to drudge away my life
in any round of dull work that'll keep body and soul together. I'd
rather have the excitement of living what you call a hole-and-corner
life than spend my days stitch--stitch--stitching--dust--dust--dusting,
as I used to have to do with Miss Aldridge, as I should have to do if I
went away from here."