“You must have known.”

“I knew nothing.  I chose not to think.  What I saw I forgot.  I supposed you merely liked me as I liked you.”

“That night at Taboga!” she flared up.  “What about that?  Couldn’t you tell then?  I fought—­fought—­fought—­but I had to give up.  You haven’t forgotten—­those wonderful hours we had together?” She began to sob, but steadied herself with an effort.  “You say you didn’t know, then what about that afternoon in the jungle?  Oh, you’re not blind; you must have seen a thousand times.  Every hour we’ve been alone together I’ve told you, and you let me go on believing you cared.  Do you think that was right?  Now you are shocked because I admit it,” she mocked.  “Well, I have no pride.  I am not ashamed.  It’s too late for shame now.  Why, even my husband knows.”

With an exclamation he seized her by the arm.  “You don’t mean that!” he cried, fiercely.  But she wrenched herself away.

“Why, do you think, I made a man of you?  Why did I force you up and up and over the heads of others?  Why are you in line for the best position on the railroad?  Did you think you had made good by your own efforts?” She laughed harshly.  “I took Runnels and Wade and Kimble and the others that you liked and forced them up with you, so you’d have an organization that couldn’t be pulled down.”

“Did—­did you do all that?”

“I did more.  I broke with Alfarez because of what his son did to you.  I juggled the politics of this country, I threw him over and took Garavel—­Garavel!  My God!  What a mockery!  But I won’t let you—­I won’t let that girl spoil my work.”  Her voice trailed off in a kind of rasping whisper.  She struggled a moment for composure, then went on:  “It was I who promoted you to Runnels’ position—­he’ll tell you that.  It was I who put ideas of advancement into his head.  I fostered this quarrel between Jolson and the Superintendent, and I’ve used Runnels to break trail for you.  Why?  Ask yourself why!  Oh, Kirk,” she cried, “you mustn’t marry that girl!  I’ll make you a great man!”

“You seem to forget Cortlandt,” he said, dully.

She gave a scornful laugh.  “You needn’t bring Stephen in.  He doesn’t count.  I doubt if he’d even care.  Our marriage amounts to nothing—­nothing.  You’d better consider me, and the sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“I’m not going to listen to you,” he cried.  “I suppose I’ve been a fool, but this must end right here.”

“You can’t marry that girl,” she reiterated, hysterically.  She was half sobbing again, but not with the weakness of a woman; her grief was more like that of a despairing man.

“For Heaven’s sake, pull yourself together,” said Kirk.  “You have servants.  I—­I don’t know what to say.  I want to get out, I want to think it over.  I’m—­dreadfully sorry.  That’s all I can seem to think about now.”  He turned and went blindly to the door, leaving her without a look behind.