Then Mona goes on quietly,—
"That night at Chetwoode you made use of some words that I have never forgotten since."
He is plainly surprised. He is indeed glad. His face changes, as if by magic, from sullen gloom to pleasurable anticipation.
"You have remembered something that I said, for eleven days?" he says, quickly.
"Yes. When talking then of supplanting Sir Nicholas at the Towers, you spoke of your project as a 'splendid scheme.' What did you mean by it? I cannot get the words out of my head since. Is 'scheme' an honest word?"
Her tone is only too significant. His face has grown black again. A heavy frown sits on his brow.
"You are not perhaps aware of it, but your tone is insulting," he begins, huskily. "Were you a man I could give you an answer, now, here; but as it is I am of course tied hand and foot. You can say to me what you please. And I shall bear it. Think as badly of me as you will. I am a schemer, a swindler, what you will!"
"Even in my thoughts I never applied those words to you," says Mona, earnestly. "Yet some feeling here"—laying her hand upon her heart—"compels me to believe you are not dealing fairly by us." To her there is untruth in every line of his face, in every tone of his voice.
"You condemn me without a hearing, swayed by the influence of a carefully educated dislike," retorts he:
"'Alas for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun!'