sn't the
sapphire it would be that." He mused. "But, you extraordinary woman, why
on earth--" he broke off, still looking at her, looking with a
persistent, sharp, studying eye, as if she were the most puzzling and,
it came to her gradually, the most dubious thing on earth. He was verily
a magician, a worker of black magic; for under the spell of his eyes she
felt herself turning into something horrible. However innocent she was
in intention, the ugly appearance was covering her.

"Then what are you doing here with the ring on you?" he demanded
solemnly. "Why are you dealing with me? What do you think you'll get out
of it? Good God! women are hideous! How can you betray the man you
love?"

"Oh," she cried, with a wail of horror. She stood up trembling and pale.
"I don't--I don't--I don't! I've kept it from them. I'm standing
against them all. I shall never give it to them. When have I ever
betrayed you?"

He drew back, away from her, as if to ward off her meaning, but she
leaned toward him, her hands flung out, holding herself up to him for
all she meant. He got up slowly and the creeping tide of red, dusky and
violent, rising over his face, swelling his features, darkening his
eyes, hung before her like a banner of shame.

"I didn't know, I didn't know," he repeated in a low voice. His eyes
were on the ground. Then, with a sharp motion, as if merely standing in
front of her was unendurable, "Oh, Lord!" he said, and, turning, walked
from her toward the window. He went precipitately, as if he meant to go
through it, but he only leaned against it and stood motionless; and from
her side of the table, trembling, breathless, she watched his stricken
silhouette black upon the gray, fading light.

The knowledge of how far she had gone, of how much she had betrayed
herself, swelled and swelled before her mind until it seemed to fill
her life, but she looked at it hardily and unabashed. All the decencies
in the world should sink before he thought her a traitor. She came
softly up beside him.

"Don't be sorry for what I told you."

"I'm not," he said. His voice sounded muffled. He did not look at her,
only held out his arm in a mute sign to her to come. She felt it around
her, but it was a mere symbol of protection. It lay limp on her
shoulder, and he continued to stare through the window at the street.
"I'm not sorry for what you said," he repeated slowly. "I'm glad; but,
child, I wish it wasn't true."

"Don't, don't!