Though she would have given her life to have denied his accusation, she knew it was true. So much was explained now—so much—so much!
As Broxbourne made a move as if to get up, she commenced speaking indistinctly, half wildly.
"You have said a most terrible thing. You have accused this—my friend of a great crime, and you mean to have her punished. Why? Not for any honourable or upright reason, but because you are so angry with her that you are like a madman, and want to strike at her somehow, you don't care how. That seems to me to be very paltry."
Broxbourne wiped his brow again.
"Oh, indeed; I never asked for your opinion!" he said.
"I never asked you to go into a frenzy of rage," Caroline answered; "one good turn deserves another. If you try to frighten me out of my life, I am at liberty to tell you what I think of you; and what I think is not pleasant."
Sir Samuel sat down again, and looked at her steadily. She had a defiant—a picturesque air, standing against the door.
"I don't care what any one thinks," he said. "I'm the best judge of my own actions."
"Are you?" Caroline laughed. "Well, then, there must be something very wrong with you, even a schoolboy knows it is only a coward who hits a woman." She caught her breath. "I should not have taken you to be a coward, Sir Samuel."
He put his eyeglass into his eye, and looked at her again.