"No!" she thundered her decision. "It would be nothing less than handing her over bodily to that pompous old biped Claude Martel! For the next six months she has got to stay right here, where I can know what she is doing and where she is!"
"Do you know where she was last night?" Quin played his last trump.
She shot a suspicious look at him from under her shaggy brows.
"You said she was at the Martels'."
"I did not. I said she was all right and you'd hear from her to-day."
"Where was she?"
"She was on the way to Chicago to join Mr. Phipps."
He could not have aimed his blow more accurately. Its effect was so appalling that he feared the consequences. Her face blanched to an ashy white and her eyes were fixed with terror.
"She—she—hasn't married him?" she cried hoarsely.
"No, no; not yet. But she may any time."