She made no movement to avoid him. A faint, grim smile hovered about her calm mouth.
"I can tell you what I mean," she said quietly. "I cannot tell you where she is."
"Then tell me what you mean," he said between his teeth.
His face was close to hers, and in that moment it was terrible. But Mona did not flinch. The small, bitter smile passed, that was all.
"I mean," she said, speaking very steadily and distinctly, "that you will go back to South Africa without her after all. I mean that by your hateful and contemptible brutality you have driven her from you for ever. I mean that you have forced her into taking a step that will compel you to set her free from your tyranny. I mean that simply and solely to escape from you she has run away with—another man."
A quiver of pain went over her face as she ended. With a swift, passionate movement she rose, flinging her mask of composure aside. The hand that gripped her wrist was bruising her flesh, but she never felt it.
"Yes," she said, with abrupt vehemence. "That is what you have done—you—you! You would not stoop to win her. You chose to take her by force, and force is the one thing in the world that she will never tolerate. You bullied her, frightened her, humiliated her. You drove her to do this desperate thing. And you face me now, you dare to face me, because I am a weak woman. If I were a man, I would kick you out of the house. I—I believe I would kill you! Even Nan cannot hate you or despise you one-tenth as much as I do!"
She ceased, but her eyes blazed their hatred at him as her heart cursed him. She was furious as a tigress that defends her young.
As for the man, his hand was still clenched upon her wrist, but no violent outburst escaped him. He was white to the lips, but he was absolutely sane. If he heard her wild reproaches, he passed them over.
"Who is the man?" he said, and his voice fell like a word of command, arresting, controlling, compelling.