"And--why not?" she said at last, as he said nothing more.

"Others have--looked after you."

Her face did not change.

"Doesn't he know it?" she said.

"And he isn't like--others."

"I know what he is like."

When she said that, Isaacson hated her, hated her for her woman's power
of understanding, and, through her understanding, of governing men.

"What does he mean by--looking after you?" he said.

And now, almost without knowing it, he spoke sternly, and his dark face
was full of condemnation.

"What did you mean when you said that 'others' have done it?"

"Then it is that!"

Isaacson had not meant to speak the words, but they escaped from his
lips. No passing light in her eyes betrayed that she had caught the
reflection of the thought that lay behind them.

"Men! Men!" his mind was saying. "And--even Armine!"