interrupted. "At this moment, Doris, you know that Boskirk
has proposed and you have accepted him. Why deny it? It is quite plain.
You made up your mind that you would marry him the moment you learned
you might be a pauper. Come, be honest--be square."

She went away from him and stood by the fireplace, her back to him.

"That is true--all of it," she said. A shudder passed over her. "I hate
him!"

"What!" he cried, advancing toward her in amazement. "You hate him and
yet you will marry him?"

"Yes. Because I can't bear to give up anything--because I am a weak,
selfish woman."

In a flash he saw her as she would be--this woman who now stood before
him twisting and turning in half-sincere outbursts, seeking to excuse or
accuse herself before his eyes from the need of dramatic sensations.

"You will be," he said quietly. "So you are going to marry Boskirk?"

She nodded.

"Soon, _very_ soon?"

She winced under the note of sarcasm in his voice and turned
breathlessly:

"Oh, Bojo--you despise me!"

"No--" he said indifferently. He held out his hand. "Well, we have said
all we have to say, haven't we?"

Before he could prevent her or divine her intentions, she had flung
herself on his shoulder, clinging to him despite his efforts to tear her
from him.

"Please, no scenes," he said hastily. "Quite unnecessary."

She wished him to kiss her once--a last kiss; but he refused. Then she
began to cry hysterically, vowing again and again, between her torrents
of self-accusation, that no matter what the future brought she would
never love any one else but him. It was not until she grew exhausted
from the very storm of her emotion that he was able to loosen her arms
and force her from him.

"Oh, you don't love me--you don't care!" she cried, when at last she
felt herself alone and her arms empty.

"If that can be any consolation--if your grief is real--if you really do
care for me," he said, "that is true. I do not love you, Doris, and I
never have. That is why I do not hate you or despise you. I am sorry,
awfully sorry. You could have been such an awfully good sort."

At this she caught her throat and, afraid of another paroxysm, he went
out quickly.

Before the curb the touring-car was waiting. An idea came to him,
remembering the glance Doris had sent about the room.

"Going back to-night, Carver?" he said to the chauffeur. "Much of a
run?"

"Two hours and a half, sir."

"Mrs. Drake came down with you?"