“That is less than you ask of—­others.”  And she turned to continue her way.

“Is there anything wrong, Geraldine?” he asked, detaining her.

“Is there?” she replied, shaking off his hand from her arm.

“Not as far as I’m concerned.”

“Can’t you even tell the truth?” she asked with a desperate attempt to laugh.

“Wait a minute,” he said.  “Evidently something has gone all wrong——­”

“Several things, my solicitous friend; I for one, you for another.  Count the rest for yourself.”

“What has happened to you, Geraldine?”

“What has always threatened.”

“Will you tell me?”

“No, I will not.  So don’t try to look concerned and interested in a matter that regards me alone.”

“But what is it that has always threatened you?” he insisted gently, coming nearer—­too near to suit her, for she backed away toward the high latticed window through which the sun poured over the geraniums on the sill.  There was a seat under it.  Suddenly her knees threatened to give way under her; she swayed slightly as she seated herself; a wave of angry pain swept through her setting lids and lips trembling.

“Now I want you to tell me what it is that you believe has always threatened you.”

“Do you think I’d tell you?” she managed to say.  Then her self-possession returned in a flash of exasperation, but she controlled that, too, and laughed defiantly, confronting him with pretty, insolent face uptilted.

“What do you want to know about me?  That I’m in the way of being ultimately damned like all the rest of you?” she said.  “Well, I am.  I’m taking chances.  Some people take their chances in one way—­like you and Rosalie; some take them in another—­as I do....  Once I was afraid to take any; now I’m not.  Who was it said that self-control is only immorality afraid?”

“Will you tell me what is worrying you?” he persisted.

“No, but I’ll tell you what annoys me if you like.”

“What?”

“Fear of notoriety.”

“Notoriety?”

“Certainly—­not for myself—­for my house.”

“Is anybody likely to make it notorious?” he demanded, colouring up.

“Ask yourself....  I haven’t the slightest interest in your personal conduct”—­there was a catch in her voice—­“except when it threatens to besmirch my own home.”

The painful colour gathered and settled under his cheek-bones.

“Do you wish me to leave?”

“Yes, I do.  But you can’t without others knowing how and why.”

“Oh, yes, I can——­”

“You are mistaken.  I tell you others will know.  Some do know already.  And I don’t propose to figure with a flaming sword.  Kindly remain in your Eden until it’s time to leave—­with Eve.”

“Just as you wish,” he said, smiling; and that infuriated her.

“It ought to be as I wish!  That much is due me, I think.  Have you anything further to ask, or is your curiosity satisfied?”