I perceived that he was nearing the end of his patience now. “You make it difficult for me to talk to you,” he said. “I am not accustomed to having my affairs taken out of my hands by strangers.” “Mr. van Tuiver,” I replied, “in this most critical matter it is necessary to speak without evasion. Before her marriage Sylvia made an attempt to safeguard herself in this very matter, and she was not dealt with fairly.” At last I had made a hole in the mask! His face was crimson as he replied: “Madam, your knowledge of my private affairs is most astonishing. May I inquire how you learned these things?” I did not reply at once, and he repeated the question. I perceived that this was to him the most important matter--his wife’s lack of reserve! “The problem that concerns us here,” I said, “is whether you are willing to repair the error you made. Will you go frankly to your wife and admit your responsibility----” He broke in, angrily: “Madam, the assumption you are making is one I see no reason for permitting.” “Mr. van Tuiver,” said I, “I hoped that you would not take that line of argument. I perceive that I have been _naive._” “Really, madam!” he replied, with cruel intent, “you have not impressed me so!” I continued unshaken: “In this conversation it will be necessary to assume that you are responsible for the presence of the disease.” “In that case,” he replied, haughtily, “I can have no further part in the conversation, and I will ask you to drop it at once.” I might have taken him at his word and waited, confident that in the end he would have to come and ask for terms. But that would have seemed childish to me, with the grave matters we had to settle. After a minute or two, I said, quietly: “Mr. van Tuiver, you wish me to believe that previous to your marriage you had always lived a chaste life?” He was equal to the effort it cost to control himself. He sat examining me with his cold grey eyes. I suppose I must have been as new and monstrous a phenomenon to him as he was to me. At last, seeing that he would not reply, I said, coldly: “It will help us to get forward if you will give up the idea that it is possible for you to put me off, or to escape this situation.” “Madam,” he cried, suddenly, “come to the point! What is it that you want? Money?” I had thought I was prepared for everything; but this was an aspect of his world which I could hardly have been expected to allow for. I stared at him and then turned from the sight of him. “And to think that Sylvia is married to such a man!” I whispered, half to myself. “Mrs. Abbott,” he exclaimed, “how can anyone understand what you are driving at?” But I turned away without answering, and for a long time sat gazing over the water. What was the use of pleading with such a man? What was the use of pouring out one’s soul to him? I would tell Sylvia the truth at once, and leave him to her!