"
"Oh!" She cowered, as if he had threatened her.
"I repeat the word," he laughed, uneasily. "Any one is my enemy who comes
between me and Evie. You'll forgive me if I seem brutal--"
"Yes, I'll forgive you. I'll even accept the word." She was pale and
nervous, with the kind of nervousness that kept her smiling and still, but
sent the queer, lambent flashes into her eyes. "Let us say it. I'm your
enemy, and you pay me the money so as to feel free to strike me as hard as
you can."
He kept to his laugh, but there was a forced ring in it.
"I don't call that a fair way of putting it, but--"
"I don't see that the way of putting it matters, so long as it's the
fact."
"It's the fact twisted in a very ingenious fashion. I should say
that--since I'm going to marry Evie--I want--naturally enough--to feel
that--that"--he stammered and reddened, seeking a word that would not
convey an insult--"to feel--that I--met other claims--as well as I could."
He looked her in the eyes with significant directness. His steady gaze, in
which she saw--or thought she saw--glints of challenge toned down by
gleams of regret, seemed to say, "Whatever I owe you other than money is
out of my power to pay.
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