She glanced up at him with a malicious sneer.
“Oh, you’re sorry enough, I dare say,” she said.
“Yes, I am sorry enough,” he assented, sadly. “Sorry for us both. And now what will you do? Wait”—for she had been about to answer furiously—“if you demand the rights our secret gives you, you know my reply, the course I shall adopt. It will cost me a great deal in shame and further suffering; but I shall not shrink from the cost; and you—what will you gain? Are you dead to all sense of shame? Yes, I suppose so. But there is something dear to you that you will lose—the money I give you to squander.”
“Curse your money!” she hissed. “I can earn enough for myself. No; I want my revenge, and I’ll have it. I want my rights, I want all the world to know what you are.”
He inclined his head.
“I see,” he said, with grim resignation. “Go into the house and tell my man all that you care to tell him. To-morrow you can make the whole story public,” and he pointed to the open door.
She stood and looked at his calm face, still gnawing her lip.
“And you, what are you going to do? Do you mean to try and give me the slip?”
“No,” he replied; “I will leave you in possession, and go down to the village. You will find me there in the morning.”
She did not even pretend to disbelieve him, but she hesitated and pondered, beating her foot on the gravel path with restless fury.