I. A. R. Wylie

“ The vivid color had died out of her face. She no longer met his eyes.
“Mr. Monkhouse I asked you once not to forget that you wished to know me, and now I ask you to remember another thing. If I come on your terms I want you to remember that I warned you. I am not your friend. As much as one can dislike a man whom one does not know personally I dislike you. Do you still want me in your household?” ”

“ You remind me of what I want to forget. I am a man wracked by remorse—a bad fellow with a conscience—as God makes men sometimes.” He went to the door and pulled back the curtains,
“Miss East—please! I dare say you have heard—you could not have very well done otherwise, and I wished you to hear, though I did not wish you to be present. You know something about the circumstances—will you befriend my daughter?”
She came back into the room, and instantly her eyes sought the huddled figure by the table. Then they turned to Brian Monkhouse with tears of bitterness and scorn in their depths. ”

“ Monkhouse.”
“Come. You know something. You know what people call me and think of me. I'm a pariah on the outskirts of decent society—a millionaire whose ill-gotten gains so stink to Heaven that even politicians won't touch him and his brother cuts him in the street—a man who has at least one woman's broken life on his record—”
“Don't!” The cry broke from her involuntarily as though she had unexpectedly been hurt, and he made a rough gesture of apology. ”