strange and puzzling flowers.

"Say, Mac, go on; let's have ut straight," urged Marcus, leaning toward
him. "Has any duck been doing you dirt?" he cried, his face crimson on
the instant.

"No," said McTeague, helplessly.

"Come along, old man," persisted Marcus; "let's have ut. What is the
row? I'll do all I can to help you."

It was more than McTeague could bear. The situation had got beyond
him. Stupidly he spoke, his hands deep in his pockets, his head rolled
forward.

"It's--it's Miss Sieppe," he said.

"Trina, my cousin? How do you mean?" inquired Marcus sharply.

"I--I--I don' know," stammered McTeague, hopelessly confounded.

"You mean," cried Marcus, suddenly enlightened, "that you are--that you,
too."

McTeague stirred in his chair, looking at the walls of the room,
avoiding the other's glance. He nodded his head, then suddenly broke
out:

"I can't help it. It ain't my fault, is it?"

Marcus was struck dumb; he dropped back in his chair breathless.
Suddenly McTeague found his tongue.

"I tell you, Mark, I can't help it. I don't know how it happened. It
came on so slow that I was, that--that--that it was done before I knew
it, before I could help myself. I know we're pals, us two, and I knew
how--how you and Miss Sieppe were. I know now, I knew then; but that
wouldn't have made any difference. Before I knew it--it--it--there I
was. I can't help it. I wouldn't 'a' had ut happen for anything, if
I could 'a' stopped it, but I don' know, it's something that's just
stronger than you are, that's all. She came there--Miss Sieppe came to
the parlors there three or four times a week, and she was the first
girl I had ever known,--and you don' know! Why, I was so close to her I
touched her face every minute, and her mouth, and smelt her hair and her
breath--oh, you don't know anything about it. I can't give you any idea.
I don' know exactly myself; I only know how I'm fixed. I--I--it's
been done; it's too late, there's no going back. Why, I can't think
of anything else night and day. It's everything. It's--it's--oh, it's
everything! I--I--why, Mark, it's everything--I can't explain." He made
a helpless movement with both hands.

Never had McTeague been so excited; never had he made so long a speech.
His arms moved in fierce, uncertain gestures, his face flushed, his
enormous jaws shut together with a sharp click at every pause. It was
like some colossal brute trapped in a delicate, invisible mesh, raging,