"Perhaps you are equally bent," he says, sneeringly, "upon marrying Gower?"
I suppose he has expected an indignant denial to this question, because, when silence follows it, he starts, and placing both his hands upon her shoulders, draws her deliberately over to a side window, and stares into her downcast face.
"Speak," he says roughly. "Are you going to marry him?"
"Yes."
The word comes with difficulty from between her pale, dry lips.
"He has asked you?"
"He has."
"You were engaged to him even before you broke off your engagement with me?"
"Oh, no, no!"
"Since when, then? Was it last evening he spoke to you?"