"You are so beautiful in one of these moods," he said; "don't restrain yourself. What a Medea you would make!"
She looked at him with a glance which had the menace of a hunted animal brought suddenly to bay, and ready from very despair to defend itself—in moments like that many a desperate woman has stained her soul with crime—but her companion betrayed no uneasiness.
"You don't like me to say complimentary things to you," he said; "it is unkind to deprive me even of that pleasure."
"I have no time to waste," she said, controlling herself by a strong effort, and speaking in a cold, measured tone. "I came to tell you that you must wait—I can't give you the money to-day—if you were successful with those cards you can afford to be patient."
"My dear friend," returned he, "you know how anxious I am—how I desire to put the ocean between me and this accursed country."
"You will not go when you get the money," she said; "you will drink, gamble—leave yourself without a penny."
"So harsh always in your judgments," he returned, deprecatingly.
"I have no hope of escaping you," she went on; "but I have one consolation—you are ruining me, and that will be your own destruction! My husband suspects me—watches me—the day he discovers a shadow of the truth, there is an end to these extortions."
"Don't speak so angrily—my dear lady! I hardly think your husband would refuse to listen to reason—your proud men will do a great deal to procure silence where a lady is concerned."
"You know that he would not be silent! With his home once broken up, his peace destroyed, he would be utterly careless of the world's knowledge—his wrongs and his revenge would lead him to desperate measures."