She made no answer. The attitude of hostility and defiance had gone. She looked at him silently, pleadingly, like some helpless dumb animal trying to placate its master's wrath. Brockton glanced at his watch, walked over to the window and then came back to where she stood. Shaking his fist at her, he muttered: "You've made a nice mess of it, haven't you?" "There isn't any mess," she answered weakly. "Please go away. He'll be here soon. Please let _me_ see him--please do that." "No," he replied doggedly, "I'll wait. This time I'm going to tell him myself, and I don't care how tough it is." Frightened at this suggestion, which might be so full of dire consequences, she was instantly galvanized into action. Starting up again, she cried: "No, you mustn't do that!" Approaching him, she said pleadingly: "Oh, Will, I'm not offering any excuse. I'm not saying anything, but I'm telling you the truth. I couldn't give him up--I couldn't do it. I love him." Shrugging his shoulders he made an ironical exclamation: "Huh!" "Don't you think so?" she went on piteously. "I know you can't see what I see, but I do. And why can't you go away? Why can't you leave me this? It's all I ever had. He doesn't know. No one will ever tell him. I'll take him away. It's the best for him--it's the best for me. Please go." He laughed, and, going back to the armchair, deliberately reseated himself. Ignoring her tearful pleading, he said scornfully: "Why--do you think that I'm going to let you trip him the way you tripped me? No. I'm going to stay right here until that man arrives, and I'm going to tell him that it wasn't my fault. You alone were to blame." She listened blankly, staring at him in a bewildered, dazed sort of way. Her face was white as death, and her hands twisted convulsively. Slowly, with a half-stifled sob, she cried: [Illustration: SHE SANK DOWN ON HER KNEES BESIDE HIM. _Page 273._] "Then you are going to let him know?" she said slowly. "You're not going to give me a single, solitary chance?" The plaintive tone in her voice touched him. He hated such scenes, and would willingly have overlooked anything to avoid one. But there was a limit to a man's patience. Perhaps, however, he had been a bit brutal. He did not trust himself to look up, but his voice was less harsh as he replied: "I'll give you every chance that you deserve when he knows. Then he can do as he pleases, but there must be no more deception, that's flat." Approaching the chair in which he sat, she laid a hand on his shoulder. Gently, she said: "Then you must let me tell him." Brockton turned away impatiently. She sank down on her knees beside him.