And then, swift as a lightning-flash, striking dismay to her soul,
came the consciousness of Burke gazing straight at her with that in
his eyes which she could not--dare not--meet.
She gripped his arm a little tighter. She was quivering from head
to foot. "We could do it between us," she breathed again.
"Wouldn't it be worth it? Oh, wouldn't it be worth it?"
But Burke spoke no word. He sat rigid, looking at her.
A feeling of coldness ran through her--such a feeling as she had
experienced on her wedding-day under the skeleton-tree, the chill
that comes from the heart of a storm. Slowly she relaxed her hold
upon him. Her tears were gone, but she felt choked, unlike
herself, curiously impotent.
"Shall we go back?" she said.
She made as if she would rise, but he stayed her with a gesture,
and her weakness held her passive.
"So you have forgiven him!" he said.
His tone was curt. He almost flung the words.
She braced herself, instinctively aware of coming strain. But she
answered him gently. "You can't be angry with a person when you
are desperately sorry for him."
"I see. And you hold me in a great measure responsible for his
fall? I am to make good, am I?"
He did not raise his voice, but there was something in it that made
her quail. She looked up at him in swift distress.
"No, no! Of course not--of course not! Partner, please don't glare
at me like that! What have I done?"
He dropped his eyes abruptly from her startled face, and there
followed a silence so intense that she thought he did not even
breathe.
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