“Hate him or love him, it don’t matter. He sha’n’t have you. I’ve fixed that. After to-night—to-morrow—you won’t want him if you want him now. Maybe you hate him. I’m not fool enough to believe it because you say so. It don’t matter. I don’t care who you love or hate, so long as I have you. I’d have smashed him, anyhow. That was business. But he’s shoved in between you and me, and I’ll smash him and stamp on him. It’s as good as done. And Frame—he’ll be disposed of to-morrow.” His voice was rising, becoming shrill as he fanned his passion. Marie felt the stirring of some emotion within her. It was apprehension, fear. Even in that moment she could scrutinize it as something outside herself, wonder at it. Why was she apprehensive? She was not afraid for herself. For whom was she afraid? She must be afraid for Jim Ashe, for he was the threatened man. It was unbelievable. She told herself she did not, could not, care what befell Jim Ashe. She hated him, despised him. “You may as well cast Ashe out of your reckoning,” Moran went on. “There’ll be nothing to reckon on. I know what you want—money. Money to buy excitement, movement, money to throw away, money to buy for you everything Diversity can’t give. I know. Well, Ashe will have trouble giving you a decent meal in another twenty-four hours.” “I do hate him!” Marie said, aloud, but to herself. “I do! I do!” “Then you’ll be glad to hear his stay in Diversity is coming to a sudden end.” Here was a threat which it seemed to her touched Jim’s own person, his safety. Marie uttered a scarce audible gasp. “Jim?” she whispered. “No.... No.... Not that. Not Jim.” In that instant she knew her fear was for Jim, a living, chilling fear. If fear lived, then love must live, too. She did not hate him; she had lied to herself, deceived herself. No matter how he had wronged her, no matter how he had judged her, she loved him. And she was glad, glad, for it rekindled her faith in human love. Love should forgive all, suffer all. And she loved with such a love. It was good. “I’m through waiting for your whims,” Moran said. “What I want I take. I’ve put him out of the way. I’ve made it necessary for you to come to me. To-morrow you’ll be told you aren’t needed here any more.” “What?” said Marie. “You’ll teach no more school in Diversity. You’ve hated it. Well, I saw to that.” She did not know if what he said were fact or threat. It did not matter. Moran had made his big mistake, for hers was not a will to brook threat. If more was needed to array her actively against him, he had contributed what was needed.