“How did I know?” said Mrs Glaire, contemptuously. “How are such things known? You leaned upon a bruised reed, and it broke and entered your hand.”
“Did Sim Slee tell you all this, then?” said Richard, stamping with fury.
“Yes; and he would have told me long ago, had I given him what the knave wants—money.”
“A treacherous scoundrel!” cried Richard; “trusting him as I did.”
“You knew him to be a treacherous, prating scoundrel, so why did you trust him?”
“Because I was a fool,” roared the young man, biting his nails with rage.
“Exactly; because you were a fool, and because no honest man would help you to be guilty of the great sin you meant to commit, of stealing the daughter of the man who had been your father’s best friend—the man who helped him to make his fortune. Scoundrels are necessary to do scoundrels’ work.”
“But he cheated me,” cried Richard; “he took my money, and he has not performed his promise.”
“Of course not,” said Mrs Glaire. “But when did you know this?” cried Richard.
“You own to it, then?” cried Mrs Glaire, gazing sharply at him.