ere was nothing in her
expression to indicate emotion, or even that she heard.

"I did it," continued he, "because I had the right. He
invited it. He knew me--knew what to expect. I suppose he
decided that you were worth taking the risk. It's strange
what fools men--all men--we men--are about women. . . .
Yes, he knew it. He didn't blame me."

She stopped lacing the boot, turned so that she could look at him.

"Do you remember his talking about me one day?" he went on,
meeting her gaze naturally. "He said I was a survival of the
Middle Ages--had a medieval Italian mind--said I would do
anything to gain my end--and would have a clear conscience
about it. Do you remember?"

"Yes."

"But you don't see why I had the right to kill him?"

A shiver passed over her. She turned away again, began again
to lace the boot--but now her fingers were uncertain.

"I'll explain," pursued he. "You and I were getting along
fine. He had had his chance with you and had lost it.
Well, he comes over here--looks us up--puts himself between
you and me--proceeds to take you away from me. Not in a
square manly way but under the pretense of giving you a career.
He made you restless--dissatisfied. He got you away from me.
Isn't that so?"

She was sitting motionless now.

Palmer went on in the same harsh, jerky way:

"Now, nobody in the world--not even you--knew me better than
Brent did. He knew what to expect--if I caught on to what was
doing. And I guess he knew I would be pretty sure to catch on."

"He never said a word to me that you couldn't have heard,"
said Susan.

"Of course not," retorted Palmer. "That isn't the question.
It don't matter whether he wanted you for himself or for his
plays. The point is that he took you away from me--he, my
friend--and did it by stealth. You can't deny that."

"He offered me a chance for a career--that was all," said she.
"He never asked for my love--or showed any interest in it. I
gave him that."

He laughed--his old-time, gentle, sweet, wicked laugh. He said:

"Well--it'd have been better for him if you hadn't. All it
did for him was to cost him his life."

Up she sprang. "Don't say that!" she cried passionately--so
passionately that her whole body shook. "Do you suppose I
don't know it? I know that I killed him. But I don't feel
that he's dead. If I did, I'd not be able to live. But I
can't! I can't! For me he is as much alive as ever."

"Try to think th