"I," answered Van Zwieten, removing the lampshade that he might see her more clearly.
Then she realized that she must have been sleeping a long time, for the lamp had not been lit when she sat down.
"You coward!" she panted, with flashing eyes--"you contemptible coward!"
Cool as he was, Van Zwieten winced at the hatred in her voice. But the more she loathed him the more determined he was to make her his wife. He recovered his calmness with a laugh, and stood by the table masterful and handsome in his smart town dress. No dandy could have been better turned out than the big Dutchman.
"Ach! I have touched the proud lips of little red Schefen," said he, quoting from Heine. "Come, Miss Scarse, when am I to have my gloves?"
"If I were a man I would kill you!"
"In that case--in any case--I am glad you are a woman. Why are you angry? I am only anticipating my right."
"Oh!" cried Brenda, clenching her hands, "will no one deliver me from this man?"
"No one," said Van Zwieten, slowly and determinedly. "You are mine--you always were. That kiss makes you doubly so."
Brenda, seeing it was useless to speak, cast on him one look of scorn and stepped toward the door. Before she reached it he spoke again. What he said made her pause.