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“Mrs. Pratt, I suppose, has already been spreading her ridiculous story. I didn’t know you gossiped with her.”

“Pratt said...”

“You’ve had it second-hand then, have you? I’ve no doubt it lost nothing in the telling.”

“Is it true?”

“That I was with Mr. Holmes for two hours last night—yes.”

He gave some sound of inarticulate rage. Ann paid no attention to it. She went on putting the suit-cases and bundles in the car, but she was shaking so much that she could scarcely lift them. He came close to her and took her arm.

“Why don’t you explain...” he said thickly.

“I see no reason to explain anything to you. Think what you please. Let go my arm.”

He let her go, and after a moment, holding by the car to steady herself, she faced him again.

“You’ve called Mr. Holmes a ‘white man’—you know he is. And you know in your heart that if I was with him it was for no...no base purpose. You are jealous of me, that’s all.”

He said nothing, and controlling her voice a little more she went on:

“You told me a day or two ago that you loved me. I see now that in your own way you do. But you love yourself better. You won’t sacrifice what you’re pleased to call your freedom. Well, I don’t want to be loved like that—not just... just desired. I want to be respected, and trusted, and...” Suddenly her voice broke. “Go away,” she said passionately. “I don’t want to see you any more. I wish I’d never met you.”