He was making it possible for the woman, close to him
physically, to regard him at last as--a man; not a husband that
mistaken loyalty must shield and suffer for. He was placing her among
the safe and decent people, permitting her at last to justify her
instincts, to trust her own ideals.

And from that vantage ground of spiritual freedom, released from all
false ties of contract and promise, Mary-Clare looked at Larry with
divine pity in her eyes. She seemed to see the veiled form of his
mother beside him--they were like two outcasts defiantly accusing her,
but toward whom she could well afford to feel merciful.

"Don't, Larry"--Mary-Clare spoke at last and there were tears in her
eyes--"please don't. You've said enough."

She felt as though she were looking at the dying face of a suicide.

"Yes, I think I have said enough about myself except this: I wrote all
those letters you--you had. Not one was my father's--they were
counterfeits--there are more ways than one of--of getting what you
want."

Again Mary-Clare shuddered and sank into the dull state of amazement.
She had to think this over; go slowly. She looked at Larry, but she
was not listening. At last she asked wonderingly:

"You mean--that he did not want me to marry you? And that last
night--he did not say--what you said you understood?"

Larry laughed--but it was not the old assured laugh of brutality--he
had stripped himself so bare that at last he was aware of his own
nakedness.

"Oh!" The one word was like a blighting shaft that killed all that was
left to kill.

Larry put forth a pitiful defence.

"You've been hard and selfish, Mary-Clare. Another sort might have
helped me--I got to caring, at first. You've taken everything and
given mighty little. And now, when you see a chance of cutting loose,
you wipe me off the map and betray me into the hands of a man who has
lied to me, made sport of me, and thinks he's going to get away with
it. Now listen. I want that letter. When I have used up the hush
money I have now, I'm coming back for more--more--and you and he are
going to pay."

By this time Larry had worked himself again into a blind fury. He felt
this but could not control it. He had lost nearly everything--he must
clutch what was left.

"Give that to me!" he commanded, and reached for the clenched hand on
the table.

"No, Larry. If you could understand, I would let you have it, but you
couldn't! Nothing matters now between you and me