"But what is it that has always threatened you?" he insisted gently, coming nearer--too near to suit her, for she backed away toward the high latticed window through which the sun poured over the geraniums on the sill. There was a seat under it. Suddenly her knees threatened to give way under her; she swayed slightly as she seated herself; a wave of angry pain swept through her setting lids and lips trembling. "Now I want you to tell me what it is that you believe has always threatened you." "Do you think I'd tell you?" she managed to say. Then her self-possession returned in a flash of exasperation, but she controlled that, too, and laughed defiantly, confronting him with pretty, insolent face uptilted. "What do you want to know about me? That I'm in the way of being ultimately damned like all the rest of you?" she said. "Well, I am. I'm taking chances. Some people take their chances in one way--like you and Rosalie; some take them in another--as I do.... Once I was afraid to take any; now I'm not. Who was it said that self-control is only immorality afraid?" "Will you tell me what is worrying you?" he persisted. "No, but I'll tell you what annoys me if you like." "What?" "Fear of notoriety." "Notoriety?" "Certainly--not for myself--for my house." "Is anybody likely to make it notorious?" he demanded, colouring up. "Ask yourself.... I haven't the slightest interest in your personal conduct"--there was a catch in her voice--"except when it threatens to besmirch my own home." The painful colour gathered and settled under his cheek-bones. "Do you wish me to leave?" "Yes, I do. But you can't without others knowing how and why." "Oh, yes, I can----" "You are mistaken. I tell you _others_ will know. Some do know already. And I don't propose to figure with a flaming sword. Kindly remain in your Eden until it's time to leave--with Eve." "Just as you wish," he said, smiling; and that infuriated her. "It ought to be as I wish! That much is due me, I think. Have you anything further to ask, or is your curiosity satisfied?" "Not yet. You say that you think something threatens you? What is it?" "Not what threatens _you_," she said in contempt. "That is no answer." "It is enough for you to know." He looked her hard in the eyes. "Perhaps," he said in a low voice, "I know more about you than you imagine I do, Geraldine--_since last April_." She felt the blood leave her face, the tension crisping her muscles; she sat up very straight and slender among the cushions and defied him. "What do you--think you know?" she tried to sneer, but her voice shook and failed. He said: "I'll tell you. For one thing, you're playing fast and loose with Dysart. He's a safe enough proposition--but what is that sort of thing going to arouse in you?" "What do you mean?" Her voice cleared with an immense relief. He noted it.