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Page 47
Constance read from her first notes that part relating to the
conspiracy to control Motors, carefully omitting the part about the
Leblanc letters.
"It's a lie--a lie."
"No, it is not a lie. It is all good legal evidence, the record
taken over the new microphone detective. Look up there over the
chandelier, Worthington. The other end is In the top drawer of Miss
Dunlap's desk."
"I'll fight that to a finish, Brainard. You are clever but there are
other things besides Motors that you have to answer for."
"No. Those letters--that is what you mean--are in my possession now.
You didn't know that? All the eavesdropping, if you choose to call
it that, was not done here, either, by a long shot, Worthington. I
had one of these machines in my wife's reception room. I have all
sorts of little scraps of conversation," he boasted. "I also have an
account of a visit there from two--er--scoundrels--"
"Mrs. Brainard to see you, sir," announced a boy at the door.
Constance had risen. Her face was flushed and her breast rose and
fell with excitement.
"Mr. Brainard," she interrupted. "I must explain--confess. Mrs.
Brainard has been sitting in my office listening to us over the
microphone. I arranged it. I asked her to come down, using another
name as a pretext. But I didn't think she would interrupt so soon.
Before you see her--let me read this. It was a conversation I got
after you had left last night and so far I have had no chance to
tell you of it. Some one," she laid particular stress on the word,
"came back after that first interview. Listen."
"No, Lee," Constance read rapidly from her notes, "no. Don't think I
am ungrateful. You have been one friend in a thousand through all
this. I shall have my decree-soon, now. Don't spoil it-"
"But Sybil, think of Mm. What did he ever care for you! He has made
you free already."
"He is still my husband."
"Take this latest escapade with this Miss Dunlap."
"Well, what do I really know about that?"
"You saw him."
"Yes, but maybe it was as he said."
The door was flung open, interrupting Constance's reading, and Sybil
Brainard entered. The artificiality of the beauty parlor was all
gone. She was a woman, who had been wronged and deceived.
"Next friend--a true next friend--fiend would be better, Lee
Worthington," she scorned. "How can you stand there and look me in
the face, how could you tell me of your love for me, when all the
time you cared no more for me or for any other woman than for that--
that Leblanc! You knew that I, who was as jealous as I could be of
Rodman, had heard a little--you added more. Yet when you had played
on my feelings, you would have cast me off, too--I know it; I know
your kind."
She paused for breath, then turned slowly to Brainard with a note of
pathos in her voice.
"Our temperaments may have been different, Rodman. They were not
when we were poor. Perhaps I have not developed with you, the way
you want of me. But, Rodman, did you ever stop to think that
perhaps, perhaps if I had ever had the chance to be taken into your
confidence more often--"
"Will you--forgive me?" Brainard managed to blurt out.
"Will you forgive me?" she returned frankly.
"I--forgive? I have nothing to forgive."
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