She rose and turned on him indignantly. "Do you threaten me?"
Darrel rose also, but did not reply directly. "I never made up my mind yet to get a thing that I didn't succeed," he said. "I wanted to be rich, and I am rich. I want you to be my wife, and I intend to make you my wife."
"No! No! No!" She stamped her foot three times.
"Oh, yes," said Darrel, calmly. "Think it over. I go to town to-morrow, but will come back in a month. I'll expect my answer then."
"Take it now," she cried, indignant at his impertinence. "No!"
"That's not the answer I require," he said, collecting his cane and hat. "You must say yes."
"I won't!"
Darrel took not the slightest notice, but held out his hand. Mildred declined to take it, and repeated her refusal. The big man turned to the door. "I'll come in a month for my answer," said he, and went out.
Mildred was very angry at his persistence, but she had quite as strong a will as Darrel, and determined that nothing would induce her to become his wife. But she dreaded his return, as she knew he was not easily shaken off. For the moment she was minded to tell Eustace, but a reflection that such a confidence might lead to a quarrel, made her change her mind. "But I'll never marry that Darrel," she declared. "Never--never--never! I wonder, indeed, if I'll marry Eustace. I like him, but I don't love him. And one should love when--" here she blushed and sat down. Her thoughts wandered to the pleasant face of the young man in the theatre, and she recalled his persistent gaze. He had evidently been attracted by her, and she-- "No," said Mildred to herself, "I'll never believe that he murdered Walter!" after which remark she began regretting that she had made a bargain with Eustace. Decidedly her conduct was flighty, but late events had unsettled her mind. She was not usually so vacillating, but at the present moment she was too bewildered and upset to know her own mind, save that she would never marry Darrel. "And perhaps not Eustace," she concluded.
Meantime, Eustace was in the seventh heaven. For the last few days he had gone about singing, and Lancaster was rather exasperated. It seemed unfair that Jarman should have all the happiness, and he should have nothing but trouble. Then he blamed himself for being selfish. Jarman had been, and was, a good friend to him, and Jarman had known Mildred for many years. He, Frank, had not even spoken to her, so it was ridiculous and ungrateful of him to be jealous of his best friend on such slight grounds. He did all he knew to preserve a cheerful face, but at times grew gloomy. Eustace put his fit of the dismals down to a too vivid realisation of his danger. He would not allow Frank to speak more than was necessary about the murder, as he did not wish him to brood over it. But he was not idle, and one morning announced that he was going to to town.