"What was your object, mynheer?"
The words were hardly out of her mouth before she regretted them. The quick flash of her teeth as she bit her lips revealed the slip. Peter Gross instantly divined the reason—her hostility was so implacable that she would not even parley with him.
"To do you justice, juffrouw," he replied.
The words were like oil on flame. Her whole figure stiffened rigidly. The smoldering light in her eyes flashed into fire. The dusk in her face deepened to night. In a stifled voice, bitter with scorn, she cried:
"I want none of your justice, mynheer."
"No, I suppose not," Peter Gross assented heavily. His head sagged and he stared moodily into the fireplace. Koyala looked at him questioningly for a moment, then turned swiftly and glided toward the door. A word from Peter Gross interrupted her.
"Juffrouw!"
She turned slowly. The cold disdain her face expressed was magnificent.
"What shall I do?" he entreated. His mild, gray eyes were fixed on her flaming orbs pleadingly. Her lips curled in scornful contempt.