She felt that she had never known him till then, so nakedly his soul leaped into his eyes. She had no physical fear of him, it did not seem to matter if he struck her or if he killed her, but at that moment she looked into the nethermost pit, and her spirit cried out for the horror of it. That reacted on her physically, she knew she turned as white as paper, and that her heart fluttered in her throat like a bird ready to take wing, but all that was a secondary effect. She knew that she had spoken truly and she knew also that he recognized that, for otherwise he would not have flamed into that icy fire of anger. He took a step towards her, and she saw him clench his fists, so that the knuckles shewed white on his brown hands. “Stand up,” he said. “Are you mad that you speak to me like that?” With a violent effort she controlled the shaking of her knees, and stood in front of him with her hands hanging defencelessly by her side. “No, Colin, I’m not mad at all,” she said. He drew back his arm as if to strike her. “I’ll give you one chance,” he said. “Are you sorry?” “No. If you’re going to knock me down, do so. I shan’t tell Dennis.” She looked him perfectly straight in the face, waiting for the blow. And then suddenly she perceived that her defencelessness had beaten him. “You’d better go,” he said. “You haven’t made things easier for Dennis, I may tell you.” Instantly all her courage which had sufficed for herself surrendered. “Colin, it’s nothing to do with him,” she said. “Do what you like to me, but don’t strike me through him.” “I think that will hurt you most,” he said. There was no use in saying anything further, and she moved towards the door. “I am going back to London to-morrow,” he said. * * * * *