“Yours!” exclaimed Gatliffe, casting upon her a look of unutterable disgust. “Part in anger! Away, woman—away! I loathe the very sight of you.”
She came forward with the intention of making an urgent appeal to him, but he thrust her fiercely from him, turned on his heel, and without uttering another word fled from the spot.
When he reached Margate he made for the station, booked for London, and hastened on to the metropolis.
Laura Stanbridge, after he had left her so abruptly, remained for some time lost in thought.
“Ah,” she murmured, “he’ll keep silent upon this subject—I think I know enough of him to be assured of that. He is not likely to turn against me for all his vapouring. I don’t think I have much to fear as far as he is concerned; but if he does play me false, well, I have my remedy, which I shall not hesitate to make use of. Anyway, he will find it difficult to come out of the business with clean hands—certainly not without a strong shade of suspicion. Let him do his worst, then, if he means to turn traitor. Yes, let him do his worst. That base, ungrateful boy has met with his deserts. For years I have been thirsting for revenge, but never deemed it would be brought about in this fashion.”
She walked slowly on in the direction of a small cottage, which she rented furnished, for a few weeks during the season.
Upon her entering the habitation in question, her maid observed that she looked troubled and careworn. The reason for this alteration in her appearance the girl could not quite understand, but she said nothing, laid the table for supper and then looked inquiringly at her mistress.
“Oh! any visitors? Is that what you mean?” said Miss Stanbridge.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Not any visitors to-night, Jane. Mr. Gatliffe is called suddenly away. I shall be all alone this evening.”