"Perhaps! But it's--just impossible."
"You know what it means?" She stared at him with hard, level eyes.
"I'm not a moderate person--I can't do things by halves. No! I see
you don't think of that, you are mad over this Garavel girl. But
you can't get her." Something in his dazzled, love-foolish smile
enraged her. "So! You are planning even now. Well, then,
understand there are practical reasons, political reasons, why you
can't have her. If Garavel were insane enough to consent, others
would not. She is part of--the machine, and there are those who
will not consent to see all their work spoiled. That is altogether
apart from me, you understand. I can build, and I can destroy--"
"There's nothing more to say," he interrupted her, quietly, "so
I'd better excuse myself."
"Yes! I would prefer to be alone."
When he had bowed himself away she crushed the fan in her hand,
staring out across the lights of the city below, and it was thus
that Cortlandt found her a few moments later, as he idled along
the veranda, his hands in his pockets, a cigarette between his
lips. He dropped into the empty chair beside her, saying:
"Hello! Thought you had this with Anthony?"
"I had."
"What's the trouble?"
"There is no trouble.
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