"My father?" Her question was sharp; it was a demand.

Instead of answering her, Tresler pointed to the broken lamp on the
floor.

"You have had an accident," he said, and his blue eyes compelled hers,
and held them.

"Yes," she said, after the least possible hesitation. Then, not
without a slight touch of resentment: "But you have not answered my
question."

"I'll answer that later on. Let me go on in my own way."

The girl was impressed with the gravity of his manner. She felt uneasy
too. She felt how impossible it would be to hide anything from this
man, who, quiet yet kindly, could exercise so masterful an influence
over her. And there was a good deal just now she would have liked to
keep from him. While they were talking she drew the sleeves of her
dress down over her bruised wrists. Tresler saw the action and called
her attention to the blackened flesh she was endeavoring to hide.

"Another accident?" he asked. And Diane kept silence. "Two accidents,
and--tears," he went on, in so gentle a tone that fresh tears slowly
welled up into her eyes. "That is quite unlike you, Miss--Diane. One
moment. Let me look." He reached out to take her hands, but she drew
away from him. He shrugged his shoulders. "I wonder if it were an
accident?" he said, his keen eyes searching her face. "It would be
strange to bruise both wrists by--accident."

The girl held silent for a while. It was evident that a struggle was
going on in her mind. Tresler watched. He saw the indecision. He knew
how sorely he was pressing his advantage. Yet he must do it, if he
would carry out his purpose. He felt that he was acting the brute, but
it was the only way. Every barrier must be swept aside. At last she
threw her head back with an impatient movement, and a slight flush of
anger tinged her cheeks.

"And what if it were no accident?"

"The bruises or the lamp?"

"Both."

"Then"--and Tresler's tone was keenly incisive--"it is the work of
some cruelly disposed person. You would not wilfully bruise yourself,
Diane," he moved nearer to her, and his voice softened wonderfully;
"is there any real reason why you cannot trust me with the truth? May
I not share something of your troubles? See, I will save you the pain
of the telling. If I am right, do not answer me, and I shall
understand. Your father has been here, and it was his doing--these
things."

The anger had passed out of the girl's face, and her eyes, troubled
enough but yielding,