Beth Norvell

"You--you mean that?" and for the first time she clasped his loose coat

between her clutching fingers.

"It is hardly a subject to be deliberately selected for jest," he

replied coolly, "but if you prefer you might wait and see."

She stepped back from him, leaning heavily against the frame of the

door, her face again hidden behind uplifted hands. The man did not

move, his face emotionless, his lips tightly set. He was watching her

with the intentness of a hawk, absolutely certain now of his victim.

Suddenly she looked up, her eyes picturing the courage of desperation.

One glance into his face and the woman stood transformed, at bay, the

fierce spirit of battle flaming into her face.

"Have it so, then," she exclaimed sharply. "I pledge myself to do

everything possible to prevent his remaining here." She drew herself

up, her eyes darkening from sudden, uncontrollable anger. "Oh, how I

despise you, you coward, you cur! I know you, what you are capable of,

and I do this to preserve the life of a friend; but my detestation of

you is beyond expression in words. My one and greatest shame is that I

ever trusted you; that I once believed you to be a man. Good God! how

could I ever have been so blind!"

She opened the door with her hand extended behind her, and backed

slowly away, facing him where he stood motionless, smiling still as

though her sudden outburst of passion merely served to feed his conceit.

"Then I may trust you in this?"

Her eyes shone fairly black with the depth of scorn glowing in them.

"Have--have you ever known me to lie?" she asked, her voice faltering

from reaction.

The door closed.