"That Dutchman! Horrid creature! I never could bear him. Gilbert liked him, though."
"Indeed!" said Brenda, rather surprised. "Mr. van Zwieten told me he and Mr. Malet were not friendly."
Lady Jenny laughed in a way not good to hear. "Very likely. Van Zwieten is cunning--slim, as his countrymen call it. I know more about him though than he thinks."
"Do you know who he is?"
"Yes, I know who he is, and how he makes his money, and why he is in England."
"How did you find out?" asked Brenda, breathlessly.
"Oh, that I mustn't tell you--suppose you were to tell Van Zwieten?"
"Tell him!" repeated Miss Scarse, her face crimson, her eyes bright. "Why, I hate him more than any man I ever knew. He wants to marry me, and won't take a refusal. My father supports him, and, for Harold's sake, I have to fight them both."
"And you are not afraid of so formidable a foe?" said the widow, seeing her eyes droop.
"Not of my father, but I am afraid of Mr. van Zwieten. He is a terrible man, and has so powerful a will that he can almost impose it on mine. There is something hypnotic about him, and I feel scarcely mistress of myself when he is near me."