"She does not use that name," returned Garth imperturbably.
Mabyn turned furiously to Natalie. "Who is this man?" he cried, his cracked voice sliding into falsetto; "this sleek young sprig that rides alone with you through the country! I demand to know! I have a right to know!"
"I admit no right!" Natalie said firmly.
Mabyn, beside himself with jealous rage, no longer knew what he said. "You won't explain!" he cried. "You can't explain! Here's a nasty situation for a married woman!"
Garth's self-control, stretched on the rack through all this scene, suddenly snapped in twain. Temper with Garth took the form of laughter; mocking, dangerous laughter, that issued startlingly from his grave lips.
He laughed now. "You scoundrel!" he said in cool, incisive tones—though he was not a whit less blinded by passion than Mabyn himself—"after the kind of life you've been leading up here, have you still the assurance to lay a claim upon her! And to cast a reflection on her good name! Have you no mirror to see what you are? Go in the lake, then, and see the vile record written on your face!"
Mabyn was staggered. Garth's terrible scorn penetrated the last wrappings of the warmly nurtured ego within. He shot a startled glance at Garth; and from Garth to the hut and behind, as if wondering how much he knew.
Garth was not through with him. He slipped his stirrups, preparatory to leaping off his horse. Natalie trembled at the quiet man's new aspect.
"Garth!" she entreated urgently.
The sound of her voice recalled him to himself. Settling back in his saddle, he abruptly turned his horse, and went off a little way, struggling to regain his self-command.