Mr. Morley Smith's sneer deepened. "That's right. You're acting consistently. It's quite the right tack—surprise, indignation, rage, tears, confession finally. Mrs. Dallas, allow me to spare you further attempt at evasion. I have facts—unalterable, unescapable facts. You were seen." He lowered his voice. "You were seen at Belcher's Beach," he brought out.
"Well, what of that?" flashed Stella.
"You were seen at the boarding-house, with Munn," he added, still keeping his sword-pointed eyes upon Stella.
Oh, so that was it! That was why there was no room for Laurel at Miss Fillibrown's! That was why the proprietor at the King Arthur had rented her apartment.
"Oh, what a rotten, rotten world!" she exclaimed.
Mr. Morley Smith shrugged and looked away. There was a silence. Then, "Well, you understand me, now, I think. You have your choice. Think it over. Either the generous escape Mr. Dallas offers, or the public exposure of acts you have taken such pains heretofore to conceal and cover up."
Stella stared at Mr. Morley Smith speechless, helpless for a moment. Every word he uttered, every glance of his eyes, every pharisaical shrug of his shoulders shamed and degraded her. She would simply have to get out of his presence, or she would do something horribly common and crude to him, like slapping him in the face, or calling him something unladylike, like a cur or a skunk. She stood up.
"I'm going," she said.
