He stopped so pointedly for an answer that she could not maintain her silence longer. She moved a little, turned her head slightly, without raising her eyes, and spoke.
"I know him very well. But--forgive me, Uncle Edward!--I can't discuss him with you. I--I am sorry you thought it necessary to insult him."
"Insult him!" Uncle Edward's anger boiled afresh. "Didn't I catch the hound making love to you? Here in my house where I have lived decently and respectably for over fifty years! Didn't I catch him, I say--he a well-known profligate and you a married woman? Didn't I actually hear him trying to tempt you from your husband and your duty? And you were calmly permitting it. Look here, young woman! I've been too kind to you. That's the fact of the matter. You've had too much liberty, too much indulgence, too much of your own way. You married in a hurry against my judgment. But--by heaven--since you are married, you shall stick to your bargain! You take a pen now--do you hear?--and a sheet of paper, and write to your husband this minute, and ask him to come and join you here! I won't be surety for you any longer. Tell him to come to-morrow!"
But Maud only stiffened as she sat making no movement to comply. She looked like a marble statue of Despair.
Uncle Edward came a little nearer to her. He was not accustomed to being set at nought. Most people regarded him as formidable even when he was in a comparatively genial mood.
"Are you going to do as I tell you?" he said.
She glanced up at him momentarily. "I think," she said, "we will wait till to-morrow."
He stamped a furious foot. "Will we, indeed, madam! Well, you may wait as long as you please; but I tell you this: If you don't write that letter--instantly, I shall go straight to the post-office found the corner and send your husband a telegram to summon him at once. He will be here by the morning, if I know him. And then I shall tell him exactly why I sent for him. So now you can take your choice. Which is it to be?"
He had moved her at last. Maud rose to her feet with a suddenness that was almost suggestive of panic. "You would never do such a thing!" she said. "You could not be so--so wickedly cruel!"
He snapped his jaws like an angry terrier. "Oh, that would be wicked, would it? You have some odd ideas of morals; that's all I can say. But wicked or cruel, it's what I mean to do. So take your choice, and be quick about it! For I shan't go back on what I've said. When a woman starts on the downward path, she usually takes it at a run; and I won't be responsible. So which is it to be? Your letter or my telegram? Make up your mind! Which?"