Among the many virtues of this admirable woman was invincible courage.
She did not faint; she did not cry out; she sat quietly down again,
folded her hands in her lap, and said calmly,--

"And why should you not?"

Had she recoiled, had she shown any fear or contrition, had she essayed
an explanation or apology, Mr. Oakhurst would have looked upon it as an
evidence of guilt. But there is no quality that courage recognizes so
quickly as courage. There is no condition that desperation bows before
but desperation. And Mr. Oakhurst's power of analysis was not so keen as
to prevent him from confounding her courage with a moral quality. Even
in his fury, he could not help admiring this dauntless invalid.

"Why should you not?" she repeated with a smile. "You gave me life,
health, and happiness, Jack. You gave me your love. Why should you not
take what you have given? Go on. I am ready."

She held out her hands with that same infinite grace of yielding with
which she had taken his own on the first day of their meeting at the
hotel. Jack raised his head, looked at her for one wild moment, dropped
upon his knees beside her, and raised the folds of her dress to his
feverish lips. But she was too clever not to instantly see her victory:
she was too much of a woman, with all her cleverness, to refrain from
pressing that victory home. At the same moment, as with the impulse of
an outraged and wounded woman, she rose, and, with an imperious gesture,
pointed to the window. Mr. Oakhurst rose in his turn, cast one glance
upon her, and without another word passed out of her presence forever.