Rosalind choked and sat down. Her fears—fears that she had been trying to smother all afternoon—were realized. This was blackmail!
The boatman continued to smoke, unruffled. There was silence for a full minute.
"I suppose we're all through talking," he observed finally.
"We are not!"
Rosalind's tongue was loosed again.
"What you have just hinted at is despicable, wicked—depraved! It's beyond belief. You are contemptible enough to take advantage of an entirely innocent situation to make trouble—for a woman! Of course, with you it's entirely a question of money. Therefore, how much?"
"How much for what?" he inquired mildly.
"For what! As if you didn't well know—
"Never mind; I'll put the thing plainly, if you wish. Through a series of unfortunate circumstances, I engaged you as a boatman last night. Through a second series of circumstances it became impossible for me to announce my arrival at Mr. Witherbee's in the usual manner. Through still another series I had the misfortune to become involved in an affair which you very well know was none of mine.
"You are a thief; I am not. It happens, however, that I cannot afford to have my name in any way, either directly or indirectly, connected with the escapades of a burglar. The probability is, if you continue to remain in this neighborhood you will be captured. If that event does occur, you undoubtedly have it in mind to drag me into the affair. Therefore, how much?"