"Mr. Laurence," she exclaimed, "I have borne a great deal from you; but you shall not insult me in this house!"
"Why did you not say to me frankly—I detest this marriage?" he continued. "Do you think I would not have freed you at once?"
"I do not know what you mean," she answered, trembling with angry astonishment at his words. "But let me tell you now, I do dread it—loathe the very thought of it."
"So this you wrote to him," he exclaimed. "I have seen the letter! Why, shame on you, Margaret Waring! I would not have believed you thus lost to all womanly pride. What! tell man unsought that you loved him? and you honorably bound to another."
She stared at him in angry surprise—her lips apart, her wild eyes full of scornful incredulity.
"You have been dreaming, or you are crazy," she said.
"Neither the one nor the other; but I know every thing."
"I do not understand you," she replied, relapsing into the haughty coldness which always enraged him more than any bitter words that she could speak.
"Oh, do not add another falsehood to the list!" he exclaimed. "Haven't you perjured your soul enough, already? I tell you that I read the letter you wrote to Ralph Hinchley. I have watched you for weeks; I know the whole extent of your shameful duplicity."