"I think you must tell me what you mean," she said, her voice very low.
He shrugged his shoulders indifferently, and then laughed at her—his abominable, mocking laugh.
"I have noticed before," he said, "that when a woman finds herself in a tight corner, she invariably tries to divert attention by asking unnecessary questions. It's a harmless little stratagem that may serve her turn. But in this case, let me assure you, it is sheer waste of time. I hold you—and your brother, also—in the hollow of my hand. And you know it."
He spoke slowly, with a confidence from which there was no escape. His eyes still closely watched her face. And Hope felt again that wild terror, which only he had ever inspired in her, knocking at her heart.
She did not ask him a second time what he meant. He had made her realize the utter futility of prevarication. Instead, she forced herself to meet his look boldly, and grapple with him with all her desperate courage.
"My brother owed you a debt of honour," she said; "and it has been paid. What more do you want?"
A glitter of admiration shone for a moment through his cynicism. This was better than meek surrender. A woman who fought was worth conquering.
"You are not going to acknowledge, then," he said, "that you—you personally—are in any way indebted to me?"
"Certainly not!" The girl's eyes did not flinch before his. Save that she was trembling, he would scarcely have detected her fear. "You have done nothing for me," she said. "You only served your own purpose."
"Oh, indeed!" said Hyde softly. "So that is how you look at it, is it?"