I merely wish her, not you, to know"-- and he turned and stared at Stephanie--"that the day of her lying to me is over." During this very peculiar harangue Stephanie, who, nervous, fearful, fixed, and yet beautiful, remained curled up in the corner of the suggestive oriental divan, had been gazing at Cowperwood in a way which plainly attested, trifle as she might with others, that she was nevertheless fond of him--intensely so.

His strong, solid figure, confronting her so ruthlessly, gripped her imagination, of which she had a world.

She had managed to conceal her body in part, but her brown arms and shoulders, her bosom, trim knees, and feet were exposed in part.

Her black hair and naive face were now heavy, distressed, sad.

She was frightened really, for Cowperwood at bottom had always overawed her--a strange, terrible, fascinating man.