She sank into the chair, threw open the coat so that the full glory of its white satin lining and of the red dress were displayed, and thrust out a little patent-leathered foot. "I saw you with Miss Chambers last night," she said, her brilliant eyes darting contempt at him. "Of course you told her all about that Allen affair. You're not only a coward. You're a squealer." David was standing with his back to his mantel, and Kate had to see the erectness, the confidence, the decision, that had come to him since the night of their adventure. "I don't know why you're saying these things," he returned quietly, "but if saying them pleases you, go on." "Well, ain't we got high and dignified since we became a janitor!" she sneered. "A janitor! Sweeping--scrubbing--listening to the kicks of dirty tenants--digging with your hands in the garbage to separate paper, tin cans, greasy bones. Lord, but ain't you high up in life!" "Go on," said David. She drew out her cigarette box--she knew he disliked to see her smoke--lighted a cigarette, and blew a little cloud toward him. "A janitor! What a poor, weak, miserable soul you've got. Think of a man turning from excitement, an easy life, good things, and taking up this! But you're not a real man. You'd rather do dirty work for a year than earn a year of good times by a night's work. Wouldn't you like to know what I cleaned up the other night after you sneaked out?" "What you wanted, I suppose." "That's it--I got all I went after! I'm on Easy Street for a year. And I'm enjoying life, too. You set that down. While you clean up other people's dirt, and live in a basement, and cook yourself three-cent dinners!" All her fierceness, all her scorn, were in her words, gave them a jagged edge; and she thrust them in deep and twisted them vindictively. David, very white, looked steadily down at her, but made no reply. "And besides, you're a squealer!" He continued silent. She sent out a puff of smoke, her eyes blazing at him, and thrust again: "And a damned coward!" David grew yet paler, but he continued his steady, silent gaze. She sat looking up at him for several moments, without speaking again. Then slowly something of the fierce scorn, the wild desire to pain him, went out of her face. "And so you're going to stick to honesty?" she presently asked, abruptly, her voice still hard. "As tough as it is?" "Yes," said David, quietly as before. "And nothing can change you?" He shook his head. She continued staring up at him. For an instant faint twitches broke her face's hard surface, but it tightened again. Suddenly, to David's astoundment, she whirled about in her chair, presenting him her back; and he saw a white hand clench and her little body grow rigid. Then suddenly she sprang up, hurled her cigarette box across the room, and turned upon him with a deep gasp, her face convulsed.