“Well, he can’t do it, and that’s all there is to it. You can go back to New York and tell him that I refuse, with thanks, his chivalrous offer. Gracious, I don’t call it exactly chivalrous for a man to walk off and leave his wife for seven years, and then, when he gets good and ready, give her the privilege of suing him for a divorce, so he can go and marry a rich young widow, and kick the high spots with her.”

“You will, then, as I said before, force Mr. Dallas to bring suit against you.”

“I never deserted him.”

“No, your offense is graver.”

“I never knew what my offense was. I’ve been ransacking my brain for seven years to find some good reason for Stephen’s clearing out the way he did.”

“Oh come, Mrs. Dallas,” half-laughed, half-sneered Mr. Morley Smith.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Don’t try and pretend innocence with me. I’ve handled too many cases of this nature, dealt with too many women placed in your unenviable position. It won’t work.”

He looked straight into Stella’s eyes, as he spoke, piercingly, drillingly. It was a horrid look. It was a look not to be endured from a man who was your enemy. Stella could feel the blood throbbing up into her throat.

“Are you trying to be insulting to me somehow?”

Mr. Morley Smith’s sneer deepened. “That’s right. You’re acting consistently. It’s quite the right tack—surprise, indignation, rage, tears, confession finally. Mrs. Dallas, allow me to spare you further attempt at evasion. I have facts—unalterable, inescapable facts. You were seen.” He lowered his voice. “You were seen at Belcher’s Beach,” he brought out.

“Well, what of that?” flashed Stella.

“You were seen at the boarding-house, with Munn,” he added, still keeping his sword-pointed eyes upon Stella.

Oh, so that was it! That was why there was no room for Laurel at Miss Fillibrown’s! That was why the proprietor at the King Arthur had rented her apartment.

“Oh, what a rotten, rotten world!” she exclaimed.

Mr. Morley Smith shrugged and looked away. There was a silence. Then, “Well, you understand me, now, I think. You have your choice. Think it over. Either the generous escape Mr. Dallas offers, or the public exposure of acts you have taken such pains heretofore to conceal and cover up.”

Stella stared at Mr. Morley Smith speechless, helpless for a moment. Every word he uttered, every glance of his eyes, every pharisaical shrug of his shoulders shamed and degraded her. She would simply have to get out of his presence, or she would do something horribly common and crude to him, like slapping him in the face, or calling him something unladylike, like a cur or a skunk. She stood up.

“I’m going,” she said.

He stood up too. He smiled.