"You're a sweet fool, Charles," said Sparta, and went around to him. Then Andrew, glaring down at them from his spy-hole, could have groaned aloud, for he saw divinity incarnate sit down on Mr. Cave's knees like a barmaid, and Mr. Cave's red hand bend back the golden head till his mouth could settle with thirsty violence on the lips that Andrew had kissed in the anguish of a boy's first worship. The sight made him sick and faint, but he could not move away. A bleak fascination held him to the hole in back of the moon, through which he beheld, with incredulous agony, the sky of his self-made universe fall to pieces with a jangle of shattered glass and lie in broken stars in the mud at the bottom of the world. "There," said Mr. Cave, "And there" in the pauses of his noisy embracements, "That's for every time he's paddled with your hand in the dark--and that's for every pimping New York dolly-name he's ever called you! Oh, kiss me, you jewel!" he squeaked in a sort of ecstasy, "Kiss me and tell me who you love with all your body and bones!" "Enough, Charles, enough," said Sparta, drowsily, her voice very golden. "You know I love no man but you." "Well, it's time and more that I heard it," said Cave, releasing her. He seemed to grow quite simple, of a sudden. His voice sank--his mouth drooped like a child's. "Where do you think I've been since you two were betrothed? In hell. In the pit of hell. They lie if they say there's no hell--I know--I've smoked in it. To see him walking with you, with his hand on your arm. You'd best be true with me now, wench." He seemed almost pleading, "You'd best be true." "I am true, Charles." "But you betrothed--" She made a gesture. "Father," she said. "I know your father," said Cave sullenly. "He's a planny man, your father. He's planned to marry you off to a fool with money ever since you were husband-high." She laughed sharply. "My father is a lucky gentleman," she said. "He may have planned--but God sent him the perfect fool. How can anyone be so utterly a fool as my Andrew, Charles?" "He loves you," Cave admitted grudgingly. "A man's blinded, then." He stared at his fist. "Granted," she said, jeeringly. "But--if you think you have been in hell Charles, these last weeks--to have to take that stammering boy in my arms and give him his lollypop kisses--" Her eyes were bright with hate, "I may have to marry him yet--but if I do--" "If you do, he'll never bed you," said Cave, in a rigid voice. "I'd have his guts on the floor first." "No," said Sparta, with an edged and terrible smile, "He may bed me yet, Charles--perhaps--but--he shan't marry me." "And I tell you," said Cave, starting up, with his eyes little, burning holes. She stopped him with a gesture. "Hush, Charles," she said. "You don't understand me yet, I'd do anything for you, Charles. Sit down and give me some wine." He obeyed, muttering. She drank the wine in a gulp and wiped her lips.