"There's no more to be said to-night," said Isobel, and moved towards the door. Wellgood was beforehand with her; he barred the way, standing in the entrance.
"Yes, there's one more thing to be said." He was calmer now, but not a whit less angry or less vicious. "From to-night I've done with both of you—I and my house. If you want her, take her. If you can get him, take him—and keep him if you can. Let him remember what I've said. I keep my word. Let him remember! If he doesn't want this story told, let him make himself scarce in Meriton. If he doesn't, as God's above us, he shall hear it wherever he goes. It shall never leave him while I live." He turned back to Isobel. "And I've done with you—I and my house. Do what you like, go where you like. You've set your foot for the last time within my threshold."
Harry looked up with a quick jerk of his head. "You don't mean to-night?"
A grim smile of triumph came on Wellgood's face. "Ah, but I do mean to-night. You're in love with her—you can look after her. I'll leave you the privilege of lodging her to-night. Rather late to get quarters for a lady, but that's your lookout."
"You won't do that, Mr. Wellgood?" said Isobel, the first touch of entreaty in her voice.
With an oath he answered, "I will, and this very minute."
He stood there, with his back to the door, a moment longer, his angry eyes travelling from one to the other, showing his teeth in his vicious smile. He had thought of a good revenge; humiliation, ignominy, ridicule should be the portion of the woman who had cheated him and of the man who took her from him. There was little thought of his daughter in his heart, or he might have shown mercy to this other girl.
"I wish you both a pleasant night," he said with a sneering laugh, then turned, went in, and banged the door behind him. They heard the bolt run into its socket.
Isobel came up to Harry. Stretching out her arms, she laid her hands on his shoulders. Her composure, so long maintained, gave way at last. She broke into hysterical sobbing as she stammered out, "O Harry, my dear, my dear, I'm so sorry! Do forgive!"
Harry Belfield took her face between his two hands and kissed it; but under her embracing hands she felt his shoulders give a little shrug. It was his old protest against those emotions. They had played him another scurvy trick!