"I'm talking about this Maitland affair. Cut it out and forget it. You're too good-looking and valuable to yourself to lose your head just all on account of a little moonlight flirtation with a good-looking millionaire. You don't suppose for an instant that there's anything in it for yours, do you? You're nothing to Maitland--just an incident; next time he meets you, the baby-stare for yours. You can thank your lucky stars he happened to have a reputation to sustain as a village cut-up, a gay, sad dog, always out for a good time and hang the expense!--otherwise he'd have handed you yours without a moment's hesitation. I'm not doing this up in tin-foil and tying a violet ribbon with tassels on it, but I'm handing it straight to you: something you don't want to forget.... You just sink your hooks in the fact that you're nothing to Maitland and that he's nothing to you, and never will be, and you won't lose anything--except illusions." She remained quiescent for a little, hands twitching in her lap, torn by conflicting emotions--fear of and aversion for the man, amusement, chill horror bred of the knowledge that he was voicing the truth about her, the truth, at least, as he saw it, and--and as Maitland would see it. "Illusions?" she echoed faintly, and raised her eyes to his with a pitiful attempt at a smile. "Oh, but I must have lost them, long ago; else I shouldn't be...." "Here and what you are. That's what I'm telling you." She shuddered imperceptibly; looked down and up again, swiftly, her expression inscrutable, her voice a-tremble between laughter and tears: "Well?" "Eh?" The directness of her query figuratively brought him up all standing, canvas flapping and wind out of his sails. "What are you offering me in exchange for my silly dream?" she inquired, a trace of spirit quickening her tone. "A fair exchange, I think ... something that I wouldn't offer you if you hadn't been able to dream." He paused, doubtful, clumsy. "Go on," she told him faintly.... Since it must come, as well be over with it. "See here." He took heart of desperation. "You took to Maitland when you thought he was me. Why not take to me for myself? I'm as good a man, better _as_ a man, than he, if I do blow my own horn.... You side with me, little woman, and--and all that--and I'll treat you square. I never went back on a pal yet. Why," brightening with enthusiasm as his gaze appraised her, "with your looks and your cleverness and my knowledge of the business, we can sweep the country, you and I." "Oh!" she cried breathlessly. "We'll start right now," he plunged on, misreading her; "right now, with last night's haul. You'll chuck this addled sentimental pangs-of-conscience lay, hand over the jewels, and--and I'll hand 'em back to you the day we're married, all set and ... as handsome a wedding present as any woman ever got...."