"Lance," she said passionately, "can't you understand? It's my one
chance to creep back to where I was before you came my way--and
Potter's kind to me. At least, I can be straight with him, and I pray
I'll never see your face, or hear your name again. Now go--go--I can't
bear any more from you."
Courthorne stood still, looking at her, for almost a minute, while the
wild reckless devil that was in him awoke. Clever as he was, he was
apt now and then to fling prudence to the winds, and he was swayed by
an almost uncontrollable impulse to stay beside the girl who, he
realized, though she recognized his worthlessness, loved him still.
That he did not love her, and, perhaps, never had done so, did not
count with him. It was in his nature to find pleasure in snatching her
from a better man. Then some faint sense of the wantonness and cruelty
of it came upon him, and by a tense effort he made her a little
inclination that was not ironical.
"Well," he said, "if they are worth anything my good wishes go with
you. At least, they can't hurt you."
He held his hand out, but Ailly Blake shrank away from him and pointed
to the door.
"Go," she said hoarsely. "Go now."
Courthorne made a little gesture that might have meant anything, and
then he swung round abruptly without another look at her. When the
door dosed behind him he went down the corridor with a little wry smile
in his eyes.
"After all, it's the gambler first," he said.
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