Even when you forced things to a head, I kept it up. I pretended
innocency and high motives--because I wanted to feel you at my
apron-strings always. We all treated you more or less badly, but I was
the worst. I fooled you--for--for--"
"For what?"
His voice burst from him, harsh and terrible as though it had been
torn from the bottom of a tortured soul.
"For the fun of the thing."
Among the seven present there was no movement, no sound. Scarcely one
seemed to breathe or be alive except the woman who stood there, her
breast heaving, a twisted smile of wild self-mockery on her ashy lips.
Nehal Singh turned and went to the door. There he stopped and looked
back at her and the little group of which she formed the central
figure. Then he made a gesture--one single gesture. He raised his hand
high above his head and brought it down, palm downward. In that
movement there was a contempt, a scorn, a bitterness so profound that
it seemed to mingle with a terrible pity; but above all there was a
final severing, a breaking of the last link which bound them. The next
minute the door closed behind him.
How long the silence that followed lasted no one knew. It was broken
by Mrs. Cary, who flung herself face downward on the table, and burst
into wild, uncontrollable sobs.
"Oh, Beaty!" she moaned. "Our reputations--our good name! How could
you have told such wicked stories about yourself and poor Mr.
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