"Why--why--why? I don't see any need for these questions? What _did_ I do? A kiss! What's that? And you talk as if I'd ceased to care for you. Of course I haven't. I always will. I don't know anyone I think more of than I do of you. That's why I want you to go. You don't look well, and as I told you before, it's not the right thing for you to be here." She was beside him and he laid his hand on her arm, gentle and persuasive. She snatched the arm away, and with a small, feeble fist struck him in the chest and gasped out an epithet of the people. For a still moment they stood looking at one another. Both faces showed that bitterest of antagonisms--the hate of one-time lovers. She saw it in his and it increased her desperation, he in her's, and in the uprush of his anger he forgot his fear. She spoke first, her voice low, her breathing loud on the room's stillness. "You could fool me once, but it's too late now. There's no coming over me any more with soft talk." "Then I'll not try it. Take it from me straight. I've come to the end of my patience. I've had enough of you and your exactions." "Oh, you needn't tell me _that_," she cried. "I know it, and I know why. I know the secret of _your_ change of heart, Mr. Boye Mayer." She saw the alarm in his face, the sudden arrested attention. "What are you talking about?" he said, too startled to feign indifference. "Oh, you thought no one was on," she cried, backing away from him, "but _I_ was. I've been for the past month. Four hundred thousand dollars! Think of it, Boye! You're getting on in the world. Some difference between that and an actress at the Albion." If Pancha had still cherished a hope that she might have been mistaken, the sight of Mayer's rage would have extinguished it. He made a step toward her, hard-eyed, pale as she was. "You're mad. That's what's the matter with you. I might have known it when you came. Now go--I don't want any lunatics here." She stood her ground and tried to laugh, a horrible sound. "You don't even like me to know that. Won't even share a secret with me--me, the friend that you care for so much." "Go!" he thundered and pointed to the door. "Not till I hear more, I'm curious. Is it just the money, or would you like the lady even if she hadn't any?" Exasperated beyond reason he made a pounce at her and caught her by the arm. This time his grasp was too strong for her to shake off. His fingers closed on the slender stem and closing shook it. "Since you won't go, I'll have to help you," he breathed in his fury. She squirmed in his grip, trying to pull his fingers away with her free hand, and in this humiliating fashion felt herself drawn toward the door. It was the last consummate insult, his superior strength triumphing. If he had loosed her she would have gone, but anything he did she was bound to resist, most of all his hand upon her. That, once the completest comfort, was now the crowning ignominy.