"It's a lie!" the girl shrieked. "I've taken it to the lawyers. It is genuine—they all say so."
Deane almost lifted Winifred from her chair. "That remains to be seen," he declared.
"In any case, it was stolen!" she cried. "That young woman there has got to say how it came into her possession, and what she meant by going around with it sewn into her bodice! Oh, you needn't try to dupe me!" she cried. "I want my money—God knows how I want it! And I mean to make her suffer, too!" she added, pointing to Winifred. "She's a thief! She's lived in luxury while I've starved;—she's worn the clothes of a princess while I've gone in rags! But she shall pay! My God, she shall pay!"
Deane, with Winifred by his side, had reached the door. "I am afraid," he said turning to the girl, who was still regarding them with breathless anger, "that you have let your imagination run away with you a good deal. A dose of the law courts will do you no harm. If you care for a word of warning from me, you can have it: don't build your hopes too much upon that paper!"
"We shall see!" she cried fiercely. "You can't frighten me! If the paper is of no value, why did she steal it, why did she carry it sewn in her clothes? If you—"
She hesitated for a moment. Her eyes rested upon Deane, her expression softened. "If you want to make terms—" she began.
He turned away. "Come, Winifred," he said.
In the cab they scarcely spoke. She had the air of a person utterly exhausted,—indifferent to anything that might happen.
"Tell me," he asked, soon after they started, "what made you go to that house?"