Page:Arthur Stringer--The House of Intrigue.djvu/381

Rh wasn't what I had imagined him to be?" It was a hard question to ask, but I had to purge my soul of it.

"Yes, I found out certain things. And when he got his conviction, in Detroit, I was hoping that it would be giving you your chance."

"But why couldn't you have been open with me about it?" I demanded.

"I knew it was hopeless," he admitted. "And the way you feel about it now proves me more than ever right."

I was more afraid of his humility than of his masterfulness. I resented the way in which he seemed able to appeal to my sense of pity. For no woman can feel sorry for a man and hate him at the same time.

I stood up, with one hand on the back of my chair, though I hadn't intended to make the movement a dismissive one.

"I'm afraid I've been a trouble to you," I said, trying to give an imitation of the Sphinx on an autumn night, "almost as much trouble as that cousin of yours up-stairs!"

"Claire?" he said, with a troubled brow.

"She has told me of your intention to marry her," I went on, though the words didn't come easy.