"Saw! But I need not tell you. Only the next time Sir Noel's heir comes here, with his orders for flowers, and his wanting to know all about growing roses, have a curtain to the kitchen window, or train the ivy thicker over it. Now do you understand?"
"It is you who cannot understand," said Ruth, feeling a glow of courage, which the young man mistook for shame. "The thing you did was a mean act, and if I had never hated you before, that would be cause enough."
"This is brass. After all, I did think to see some sign of shame."
Ruth turned away, faint with terror and disgust.
"You may thank me that I told no one but the old man in yonder. Had I gone to Sir Noel—"
"No, no—you could not; you dare not!"
"Dare not! Well, now, I like that. Some day you will know how much I dare."
"But why—why do you wish to injure me?"
"Why does a hound snap when you mock him with a dainty bit of beef, and while his mouth waters, and his eyes gloat, toss it beyond his reach? You have learned something of the kennels, Ruth Jessup, and should know that men and hounds are alike in this."
Ruth could hardly suppress the scorn that crept through her into silence. But she felt that this man held an awful power over everything she loved, and gave no expression to her bitter loathing.