For a moment everything whirled before Evarne's eyes; then, incapable of remaining without action, she commenced to pace up and down the room. A little table on which stood photograph frames, a vase of lilac, and various similar knick-knacks, stood in her path. Without a moment's hesitation she flung it aside, scattering the dainty ornaments in all directions.
"It's foolish to be angry with you," said Morris, suddenly calming himself. "You are clearly not responsible for what you do or say. You must go to your room and lie down. Do you hear? I insist. It would serve you right if I did leave you to your own devices entirely, but you are so young and silly that for your father's sake I'm going to see your future settled somehow, whether you say 'thank you' or not. Now come."
"Don't you dare to touch me!" screamed the girl. "You've no right now to interfere with my life, and you shan't do it. How dare you speak of my father, when you've so brutally betrayed his trust? You've lied, and tricked, and ruined me. I suppose you can't help being so ignoble and contemptible that loyalty and faith are only objects of derision to you; but that you should be willing—anxious—to pass me on to a despicable rake—not so vile as yourself, but still vile—that I shall never forget and never forgive, and, if I can help it, God likewise shall never forgive."
"What a ridiculous position to take up! Do you really expect to be ever anything more than one upon a string of beads? You knew you hadn't been otherwise with me, and you never will be now with any other man—so you may as well make up your mind to it, and think yourself lucky if——"
The girl, distracted and infuriated, waited for no more. Snatching up a silver statuette she hurled it with all her force at her betrayer's head. Then for a time she knew nothing; all was a blank—devoid of memory—of thought—of consciousness of action. Quite suddenly she seemed to regain her senses—to awake to find herself alone—the carpet covered with fragments of broken glass, streams of water, disordered flowers, books, scattered ornaments, while she herself was throwing madly, fiercely, everything on which she could lay hands, smash against the closed door by which Morris had been standing.
CHAPTER XIII
OUT OF THE GILDED CAGE
Instantly subdued by amazement, she stared aghast at the surrounding destruction. At the dread realisation that she was beholding the work of her own hands, a shrinking horror—a terrible fear of herself—filled her breast. Why, in very sooth, this looked like the doings of a madwoman, and she had known nothing of what she was about. What could it portend? Trembling violently, she leant against the wall, scarcely able to stand, her hands pressing her cheeks, her eyes dilated and glancing around as if in apprehension.
How blessed just at that moment would have been the care of her mother—or, indeed, of any tender woman. But she was quite alone—or worse than that, surrounded only by those who had reduced her to this state, and by servants filled with curiosity.