Ruth's eyes were gleaming and her voice was shrill with hate.
"He told you that?"
"Yes—he did!"
"I don't believe you."
"We love each other," cried the dark girl. "He came to see me.
You've got Arthur Sinclair. You shan't take him away!"
The two girls, shaking with fury, were facing each other, were looking into each other's eyes. "If Sam Wright told you he loved you," said Ruth, with the icy deliberateness of a cold-hearted anger, "he was trying to—to make a fool of you. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. We're trying to save you."
"He and I are engaged!" declared Susan. "You shan't take him—and you can't! He loves me!"
"Engaged!" jeered Ruth. "Engaged!" she laughed, pretending not to believe, yet believing. She was beside herself with jealous anger. "Yes—we'll save you from yourself. You're like your mother. You'd disgrace us—as she did."
"Don't you dare talk that way, Ruth Warham. It's false—false!
My mother is dead—and you're a wicked girl."
"It's time you knew the truth," said Ruth softly. Her eyes were half shut now and sparkling devilishly. "You haven't got any name. You haven't got any father. And no man of any position would marry you. As for Sam——" She laughed contemptuously. "Do you suppose Sam Wright would marry a girl without a name?"
Susan had shrunk against the door jamb. She understood only dimly, but things understood dimly are worse than things that are clear. "Me?" she muttered. "Me? Oh, Ruth, you don't mean that."