"The contrary. Your
throwing it all up was one of the shocks of my life."
She laughed mockingly--to hide her sensitiveness.
"One of the shocks of my life," he repeated.
She was looking at him curiously--wondering why he was thus uncandid.
"It puzzled me," he went on. "I've been lingering on here,
trying to solve the puzzle. And the more I've seen of you the
less I understand. Why did you do it? How could _you_ do it?"
He was walking up and down the room in a characteristic pose--
hands clasped behind his back as if to keep them quiet, body
erect, head powerfully thrust forward. He halted abruptly and
wheeled to face her. "Do you mean to tell me you didn't get
tired of work and drop it for--" he waved his arm to indicate
her luxurious surroundings--"for this?"
No sign of her agitation showed at the surface. But she felt
she was not concealing herself from him.
He resumed his march, presently to halt and wheel again upon
her. But before he could speak, she stopped him.
"I don't wish to hear any more," said she, the strange look in
her eyes. It was all she could do to hide the wild burst of
emotion that had followed her discovery. Then she had not
been without a chance for a real career! She might have been
free, might have belonged to herself----
"It is not too late," cried he. "That's why I'm here."
"It is too late," she said.
"It is not too late," repeated he, harshly, in his way that
swept aside opposition.
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