"Then retire, and make room for better men."
"You're a devil!" hissed Fenton.
"No doubt. I told you what to expect when I first met you."
"Do you mean to say you will throw me over because I've no money left?" he said fiercely, grasping her wrist.
"Like an old glove," she retorted.
"I'll kill you first."
"Bah! you are melodramatic."
"Oh, Kitty, Kitty!" with a sudden change to tenderness.
"Don't call me by that name," said the woman, in a low, harsh voice. "Kitty Marchurst is dead; she died when she went on the stage, and all womanly pity died with her. You are speaking to Caprice, the most notorious woman in Melbourne."
Fenton sat sullenly silent, glancing every now and then at her beautiful, scornful face.