She understood the reference in a moment. The flush turned to
flaming crimson that mounted in a wave to her forehead. She drew
back from him, her head high.

"And if Schafen or any other man comes to you with offensive gossip
regarding my behaviour, please kick him as he deserves--next time!"
she said. "And then--if you think it necessary--come to me for an
explanation!"

She spoke with supreme scorn, every word a challenge. She was more
angry in that moment than she could remember that she had ever been
before. How dared he hear Schafen's evidence against her, and then
coolly take her thus to task?

The memory of his kiss swept back upon her as she spoke, that kiss
that had so cruelly wounded her, that kiss that had finally rent
the veil away from her quivering heart. She stood before him with
clenched hands. If he had attempted to kiss her then, she would
have struck him.

But he did not move. He stood, looking at her, looking at her,
till at last her wide eyes wavered and sank before his own. He
spoke then, an odd inflection in his voice.

"Why are you so angry?"

Her two fists were pressed hard against her sides. She was aware
of a weakening of her self-control, and she fought with all her
strength to retain it. She could not speak for a second or two,
but it was not fear that restrained her.