“You mean,” she said, not without bitterness, a fresh tear stealing to her cheek, “that you believe in my feeling for you, and wish me to understand that yours for me hadn’t the same seriousness?” “No, I didn’t mean that. You must remember that I am not defending this step of mine, only showing you that I have not violated any compact between us. We were both left free, that’s all.” “Then you don’t care for her!” the girl exclaimed, with mingled satisfaction and reproof. Lacour threw one leg over the other, and bent the paper-knife on his knee. “You must remember,” he said, “that marriages spring from many other motives besides personal inclination. I have told you that I don’t defend myself. I’m afraid I mustn’t say more than that.” Rhoda let her eyes wander; agitation was again getting hold upon her. “You mean that I have no right to question you. I know I haven’t, but--it all seems so impossible,” she burst forth. “How can you tell me in such a voice that you are doing what you know isn’t right? When father told me this morning I didn’t know about that will; he only explained, because there was no use in keeping it secret any longer, and of course he knew nothing of--of the way it would come upon me.” “Ah, you know about the will? I am very glad of that; it makes our explanation easier.” She fixed her eyes upon him; they were only sad at first, but expanded into a despairing amazement. “How _can_ you speak so to me?” she asked in a low and shaken voice. Lacour threw away the paper-cutter, and once more stood up. “How am I to speak, Rhoda? Should you prefer to have me tell you lies? Why couldn’t you accept the fact, and, knowing all the details, draw your own conclusion? You were at liberty to hold me in contempt, or to pity me, as you thought fit; you were even at liberty to interfere to spoil my marriage if you liked----” “You think me capable of that? No wonder you part from me so easily. I thought you knew me better.” She put her hands over her face and let her tears have way. “Rhoda,” he exclaimed nervously, “there are two things I can’t bear--a woman angry and a woman crying; but of the two I’d rather have the anger. You are upsetting me dreadfully. I had ever so much rather you told me in plain, knock-down words just what you think of me. If you distress yourself in that way I shall do something absurd, something we shall both of us be sorry for. Really, it was a horrible mistake to come here; why should we have to go through a scene of this kind? You are giving me--and yourself--the most needless pain.” She rose and sought the door with blinded eyes, as if to go from him at once. Lacour took a step or two towards her, and only with difficulty checked himself. “Rhoda!” he exclaimed, “you cannot go out in that way. Sit down; do as I tell you!” She turned, and, seeing his face, threw herself on her knees before him.