"It was this way," and Beatrice looked piteously into his kind eyes. "Mr. Wadsworth asked me that night to marry him. We were in the Drawing Room, as you know. I wouldn't say yes, for I still had a faint hope of winning Eric. It was absurd for me to think it, but I was desperate. After Mr. Wadsworth left me, I sat a moment in the Drawing Room, and then I resolved to go to Eric, by the secret passage, of which only he and I knew, and beg him to put Joyce away and take me. I say this without shame, for I was--and am, still, so madly in love with him, that I had no shame regarding it, and would have suffered any ignominy or humiliation to win him. I went through that small space; it is not really secret, but no one has ever noticed it, and I went through to the studio, and stepping in the room, on the little balcony, I saw Eric below me, gazing at the etching of Natalie with an adoring look. He bent down and kissed the picture, and then I descended the stairs and spoke to him. I told him that Natalie loved Barry and hated him. I urged him to divorce Joyce and let her marry Eugene Courtenay and I begged him to marry me. He laughed at me! I shall never forget that laugh! But that wasn't why I killed him. It was because he turned again to that picture of Natalie and into his face came a look that I had never seen there. A look of love such as I had never been able to call forth on his face, a worshipping passion that transcended all love I had ever dreamed of. And that he felt for a little girl who hated him. Jealousy maddened me, and snatching up an etching tool I marred the wax beyond recognition. He turned on me, his face livid with rage. The contrast,--the look of love he had for the girl, the look of venomous hate he gave me, bereft me of my senses. No, I do not mean I did not know what I was doing,--I did know. I fully meant at that moment to kill him, and then to kill myself, that we might at least die together. I should not have thought of killing him if I hadn't chanced to have that tool in my hand. Nor should I have wanted to kill him but for his scorn of me and his love for her. The two together drove me wild, and I stabbed him in a moment of fierce passion that was love, not hate. Then, as I was about to draw forth the needle and stab myself, I saw that he was not dead. He looked at me, and I couldn't say it was with hatred. I think--I honestly think--that he gloried in my deed,--you cannot understand,--it is a strange idea, but I think he realised at last the depth of my love and appreciated it. Anyway, I read that in his face, and I couldn't bring myself to leave a world that still held him. I didn't dare remove the needle, lest it bring about his death,--I didn't dare remain and be found there with him. My mind fairly flew. I thought so fast and so clearly, I concluded to escape by the panel and return quickly through the hall and thus coming upon him, apparently innocently, save his life."