And there was something else. There was the will to fight for the love that was hers; the will to win again what she had lost. It was not right, fair, that she should lose. It was error. She did not even blame Jim now. She was given to see that the words he had spoken to her lacerated his own heart more than they lacerated hers. Opposite Michael Moran sat Marie Ducharme, fighting with all the force and the gifts that were in her for the man she loved.
She moved forward in her chair, leaned a little toward Moran.
“You—you have a will,” she said.
Moran saw her weakening. It had been a perfect thing, not too apparent, convincing.
“You’re through backing and filling,” he said, stating it as a fact, not asking it as a question.
“And you’re sure—sure you can do what you say, to him?”
He glanced at her quickly, astonished at the vindictiveness that cut through her words.
“What’s he been doing to you?” he asked, jocularly.
“Enough. No matter. He—he can’t avoid it? You know you can do as you say—crush him?”
“I wouldn’t care to have you get a spite against me, young lady. Yes, I’ve got him—so.” He closed his hand tightly. “It’s a matter of business, with you added to make it more interesting. I’m here to make money, and I’m going to make some of it out of Ashe—so much, in fact, that he won’t have any left. And that’s interesting to you, isn’t it? From now on he’s going to learn something about business.”