Bella; no, Pete; I'm going to speak; no one can stop me. I know you
love him. How you can look at him and see him as he is and know what
he has done and still love him, I can't understand. Now, Hugh
Garth--the name you tried to make me love you by--I'll tell these
people that love you, some of the beautiful fables with which you
tried to win _my_ love. Maybe, then, they will begin to see you as
you are. Here is the first: 'There was once a very noble youth who
had a friend--'"

"Don't!" Hugh groaned pitifully, his head bent before her.

"Perhaps I won't; after all, it's not interesting unless you're fool
enough, or blind enough, to be tricked into fancying it's the truth.
But let me tell them some of the other things. This noble youth, this
man sacrificed his life for his friend and bore the blame of that
friend's guilt. He is as handsome as a Viking, the very ideal of a
girl's imagination, strong and shapely and graceful. Has he a humped
shoulder and a lame leg and a scarred face revealing his scarred soul?
Answer me."

Hugh flinched as though under a lash.

Pete put out his hand uncertainly; his face was drawn with pain.
"Sylvie--stop. You _must_ stop. You're too cruel. He did lie to you,
but remember, that was because he--"

The brilliant black eyes flashed back at him.

"Because he loved me, you were going to say? When you love a woman,
do you try to ruin her life? Do you creep up in the dark under cover