"Stop!" cried Margaret. "I will endure no more! Leave this house, Mr. Laurence, at once, and forever! While we both live, I will never see your face again; my uncle decides this night, between you and me; either he confirms what I now say, or I will leave his house."
"So be it; do not think I regret it! Why, I came here only to expose and cast you off. Your uncle shall see that letter. I will have it, or tear it from Hinchley's heart. When Waring has read that, we shall see what he thinks of his dainty niece."
"Of all this passion I do not comprehend one word; but it wearies me. Go, sir."
"Do you dare deny having written to Ralph Hinchley that you loved him—that you were ready to abandon your engagement and marry him?"
"Oh!" groaned Margaret, almost fainting from a sharp recoil of outraged feeling, "is there no man living who will avenge me on this libeler?"
"He may, perhaps, avenge you; why not?" retorted Laurence; "but answer. You shall answer and confess this duplicity, or blacken your soul with another lie. Did you write to Hinchley?"
"I did," said Margaret; "a note of three lines, asking him to pay a bill for me at Desmond's."
"Margaret! Margaret! this effrontery only makes it more unbearable," he cried. "I will expose you to the whole world."
"Do what you please—say what you choose, but leave this house, and never let me see you again."