He read it, and crumpled the sheets in his hand. Instantly on the defensive, "Well?" he said. "Was there any reason to lie to me?" I counter-questioned, quietly. "You must have known that, sooner or later, I would know ... if not now, then when I saw Father again." I think my eyes warned him that this was a time for very plain speaking. "I had hoped," he answered, after a little pause, "to persuade your Father to bear me out in what I believed a harmless enough conspiracy.--After all," he added, breaking my persistent silence, "it would be difficult to explain to your Father that you refused to let me support you." "I am sorry," I said, rather more gently than I felt, "to have been more of a burden on you than I knew. Had I known, had I for one instant dreamed that I would be dependent on you, I would never have consented to this arrangement. This may sound very foolish, I know, and I see now how impossible it all would have been,--but this is how I felt, and you, I think, knew." He nodded, eyes on mine. "Yes," said he. "You have had a very pretty revenge," I told him, each word dropping like a cold, little stone into the hush of the big room. "You must have laughed, often, to yourself. No doubt it has been very amusing, waiting for the bubble to break. If you will make me out a statement, as nearly as you can, of just how much I am indebted to you, I will try to repay you little by little." I felt the absurdity of the situation, the utter arrogance and futility of my words as I spoke them. But I had to speak. "Please--" he flung out a protesting hand, "why do you fret yourself with trifles? Are you not willing to make some further sacrifice for your Father? When the time comes for us to separate, I had hoped--after all, it would be only the usual thing to do--to make you an allowance." "Did you intend to consult me about it?" I asked, furiously. He hesitated. "Please answer," I said. At my tone, he raised his eyebrows ever so slightly. "I am waiting," I announced, with dangerous patience. "Well--I admit the situation seemed difficult, but it was in the future," he answered finally, "and I thought, perhaps--" "Never mind. You would have gone out of my life with the amusing knowledge that you had a hold on me, to a certain extent? It was well planned," I said, growing colder and colder minute by minute, until in the sunny warmth of the windows I shivered uncontrollably. "But you must have thought me even more of an imbecile than I am. I owe you," I ended, "a large sum of money. When we are separated, when Father gets used to that fact, and when he realizes how well I am, how strong, there will be some sort of work for me somewhere, I am sure, that will both occupy my time, and enable me to repay you." "Work?" said Bill, and then, under his breath, "My God!" He was angry, I knew--hurt, I felt. And I was glad. "I am not a--charity patient, Dr. Denton!" I said, and left the room.