"Oh, as to that," I said lightly, "it makes me ill for days if my car
runs over a dog." He looked at me in silence. "You are not going to get
up on that parapet again?"
"Mrs. Wilson," he said, without paying the slightest attention to my
question, "will you tell me what I have done?"
"Done?"
"Or have not done? I have racked my brains--stayed awake all of last
night. At first I hoped it was impersonal, that, womanlike you were
merely venting general disfavor on one particular individual. But--your
hostility is to me, personally."
I raised my eyebrows, coldly interrogative.
"Perhaps," he went on calmly--"perhaps I was a fool here on the
roof--the night before last. If I said anything that I should not, I ask
your pardon. If it is not that, I think you ought to ask mine!"
I was angry enough then.
"There can be only one opinion about your conduct," I retorted warmly.
"It was worse than brutal. It--it was unspeakable. I have no words for
it--except that I loathe it--and you."
He was very grim by this time. "I have heard you say something like that
before--only I was not the unfortunate in that case."
"Oh!" I was choking.
"Under different circumstances I should be the last person to recall
anything so--personal. But the circumstances are unusual." He took an
angry step toward me. "Will you tell me what I have done? Or shall I go
down and ask the others?"
"You wouldn't dare," I cried, "or I will tell them what you did! How you
waylaid me on those stairs there, and forced your caresses, your kisses,
on me! Oh, I could die with shame!"
The silence that followed was as unexpected as it was ominous. I knew
he was staring at me, and I was furious to find myself so emotional, so
much more the excited of the two. Finally, I looked up.
"You can not deny it," I said, a sort of anti-climax.
"No." He was very quiet, very grim, quite composed. "No," he repeated
judicially. "I do not deny it."
He did not? Or he would not? Which?