control of herself.
Some of the oft-rehearsed sentences were coming back to her. Now they
were more or less in order. She uttered one, speaking clearly, in a
rather expressionless voice.

"Morris...." she said, "how much do you care for Belinda?"

He stared gloomily at the carpet.

"I rather think I hate her," he said.

Scorn choked Sophy. She could not speak again, either, for a moment.
Then she said:

"The person you have got to consider chiefly in all this is Belinda."

Now he stared at her.

"_Belinda?_" he stammered.

Sophy's face and voice grew hot. It seemed as though even Fate's
bludgeonings couldn't drub impulse out of her. She wrestled now with
this impulse for a moment. It got the better of her.

"For shame!" she cried. "Oh ... for shame! for _shame_! A young girl ...
in your own house ... you treat her like that ... your own kinswoman....
Oh, yes! I know.... But by bringing-up she is your kinswoman.... You do
this ... you do this...." She was stammering with the heavy heart-beats
that again suffocated her. "And then ... to _me_ ... you speak.... Oh,
let me breathe!" she cried, and stood up as if throwing off some
intolerable weight.

Loring stood changing from red to white, from white to red. His eyes
shone sullenly. His head was lowered in that way she knew. He looked up
at her defiantly from under the beautiful arch of the brows that she had
once loved. "Well?... And what course has your superiority mapped out
for me?" he sneered finally.

She said in a cold voice:

"I have 'mapped out' nothing. But there seems only one way to me.... To
be quite truthful about it all. Then ... to act truly."

He gave his ugly little laugh.

"Perhaps you'll favour me with your ideas on 'acting truly'?"

"I will. You love this girl...."

"Damn it! I've told you I hate her!" he broke out violently.

She tried hard to keep the contempt out of her voice. "You can hardly
expect me to accept that, Morris," she said gravely.

"Why not? You're so precious anxious for the truth. That's the truth.
Now you say you won't 'accept' it...."

Sophy sank wearily into her chair again. She found that it made her
giddy to stand. Her hands were damp and cold. She felt physically ill.
She covered her eyes for a moment, and in the momentary darkness her
truest self whispered to her.

She uncovered her face and looked at him with that first gentle, quiet,
to him inexplicable, look.

"Morris," she said softly, "don't yo