‘You won’t disturb me with your sneers,’ retorted the girl, glaring fiercely at him out of the gathering gloom in the room; ‘I am not the innocent girl I once was.’
‘It is needless to tell me that,’ he said, coarsely.
She drew herself up at the extreme insult.
‘Have a care, Gaston,’ she muttered, hurriedly, ‘I know more about your past life than you think.’
He rose from his seat and approached his face, now white as her own, to hers.
‘What do you know?’ he asked, in a low, passionate voice.
‘Enough to be dangerous to you,’ she retorted, defiantly.
They both looked at one another steadily, but the white face of the woman did not blench before the scintillations of his eyes.
‘What you know I don’t know,’ he said, steadily; ‘but whatever it is, keep it to yourself, or—,’ catching her wrist.
‘Or what?’ she asked, boldly.