He retreated behind a chair, fury in his voice, weak at the thought of the floating, entangling scarf, and the perfume he knew so well. Then, recovering himself, he cried brutally: "Never! You have given me my freedom. I'll keep it! Thanks!" With a gradual motion, she loosened her filmy cloak and let it slip from the suddenly revealed shoulders and slender body. "No, no, I forbid you!" he cried. Anger--animal, instinctive anger--began to possess him. He became brutal as he felt himself growing weak. "Either you go out or I do!" "You will listen." "What? To lies?" "When you have heard me, you will understand, Jack." "There is nothing to be said. I have not the slightest intention of taking back--" "Jack!" Her voice rang out with sudden impressiveness: "I swear to you I have not met him, I swear to you I came back of my own free will, because I could not meet him, because I found that it was you--you only--whom I wanted!" "That is a lie!" She recoiled before the wound in his glance. She put her long white hand over her heart, throwing all of herself into the glance that sought to conquer him. "I swear it," she said simply. "Another lie!" "Jack!" It was a physical rage that held him now, a rage divided against itself--that longed to strike down, to crush, to stifle the thing it coveted. He had almost a fear of himself. He cried: "If you don't go, I'll--I'll--" Suddenly he found something more brutal than a blow, something that must drive her away, while yet he had the strength of his passion. He crossed his arms, looking at her with a cold look. "I'll tell you why you came back. You went to him for just one reason. You thought he had more money than I had. You came back when you found he hadn't." He saw her body quiver and it did him good. "That ends it," she said, hardly able to speak. She dropped her head hastily, but not before he had seen the tears. "Absolutely." In a moment she would be gone. He felt all at once uneasy, ashamed--she seemed so fragile. "My cloak--give me my cloak," she said, and her voice showed that she accepted his verdict. He brought the cloak to where she stood wearily, and put it on her shoulders, stepping back instantly. "Good-by." It was said more to the room than to him. "Good-by," he said dully. She took a step and then raised her eyes to his. "That was more than you had a right to say, even to me," she said without reproach in her voice. He avoided her look. "You will be sorry. I know you," she said with pity for him. She went toward the door. "I am sorry," he said impulsively. "I shouldn't have said it." "Thank you," she said, stopping and returning a little toward him. He drew back as though already he felt her arms about him. "Don't," she said, smiling a tired smile. "I'm not going to try that." Her instinct had given her possession of the scene. He felt it and was irritated.