"Almost before her body is cold...."
She shrugged her shoulders.
"Christine Manderson was an incident," she said indifferently. "A disagreeable episode. She merely infatuated you, as she might have infatuated any man. She has passed."
"Passed," he muttered. "Passed...."
"I do not profess to equal her in appearance," she admitted. "But I am not repulsive. I am considered to be extremely good-looking, and I am much more interesting to talk to than she was. Also, I am well-bred. Most people would find the balance in my favor. But, even if you do not, the difference can only be very small. You will have to make the best of it."
"Or else?" he snarled.
"Or else, if you prefer it, I will exchange your promises for the secrets of this house—with no undertaking to keep them."
He sat biting his nails in the suppression of his rage. She languidly corrected the folds of her dress, leant back in a charming attitude, and waited with unassailable self-possession. The silence was long.
"How much do you want?" he demanded, at last.
"I am not asking you for money," she replied coldly.