“He told me nothing! Nothing! The very fact that you had objected, as you call it, was sufficient. Object! YOU object to my doing as I please! YOU meddle with my affairs! And humiliate me in the eyes of my friends! I could--I could die of shame! I... And as if I did not know your reasons. As if they were not perfectly plain.” The real reason could not be plain to her. Heathcroft evidently had not told her of the Warwickshire heiress. “I don't understand,” I said, trying my hardest to speak calmly. “What reasons?” “Must I tell you? Did you OBJECT to my friendship with Doctor Bayliss, pray?” “Doctor Bayliss! Why, Doctor Bayliss is quite different. He is a fine young fellow, and--” “Yes,” with scornful sarcasm, “so it would appear. You and my aunt and he have the most evident of understandings. You need not praise him for my benefit. It is quite apparent how you both feel toward Doctor Bayliss. I am not blind. I have seen how you have thrown him in my company, and made opportunities for me to meet him. Oh, of course, I can see! I did not believe it at first. It was too absurd, too outrageously impertinent. I COULDN'T believe it. But now I know.” This was a little too much. The idea that I--_I_ had been playing the matchmaker for Bayliss's benefit made me almost as angry as she was. “Nonsense!” I declared. “Miss Morley, this is too ridiculous to go on. I did speak to Mr. Heathcroft. There was a reason, a good reason, for my doing so.” “I do not wish to hear your reason, as you call it. The fact that you did speak to him concerning me is enough. Mr. Knowles, this arrangement of ours, my living here with you, has gone on too long. I should have known it was impossible in the beginning. But I did not know. I was alone--and ill--and I did need friends--I was SO alone. I had been through so much. I had struggled and suffered and--” Again, as in our quarrel at Wrayton, she was on the verge of tears. And again that unreasonable conscience of mine smote me. I longed to--Well, to prove myself the fool I was. But she did not give me the opportunity. Before I could speak or move she was on her way to the door. “This ends it,” she said. “I shall go away from here at once. I shall put the whole matter in my solicitor's hands. This is an end of forbearance and all the rest. I am going. You have made me hate you and despise you. I only hope that--that some day you will despise yourself as much. But you won't,” scornfully. “You are not that sort.” The door closed. She was gone. Gone! And soon--the next day at the latest--she would have been gone for good. This WAS the end. I walked many miles that day, how many I do not know. Dinner was waiting for me when I returned, but I could not eat. I rose from the table, went to the study and sat there, alone with my misery. I was torn with the wildest longings and desires. One, I think, was to kill Heathcroft forthwith. Another was to kill myself.