“Mrs. Briggs? What has Mrs. Briggs to do with that railroad?” In spite of his effort to keep his self-control, Douglas Briggs betrayed anger in his voice.
“Simply this,” Miss Wing went on, coolly. “I warn you it’s very unpleasant. But I—I consider it my duty to tell you.”
“Go ahead, then.”
Miss Wing fell into a dramatic attitude, her right hand extended and resting on her parasol. “I happen to know that Mr. Franklin West has taken advantage of his hold on you to make love to your wife.”
Briggs rose from his seat. “This is the worst yet,” he said, in a low voice.
Miss Wing lifted her eyebrows. “You don’t believe it?”
“Of course I don’t,” he replied, contemptuously.
“But I saw him with my own eyes. You’re still incredulous, aren’t you? It was the night of your ball in Washington. Mr. West was with Mrs. Briggs in the library. I saw him threaten her, and I saw that she was frightened. Knowing your relations—excuse me, but I must be frank—knowing your relations, it wasn’t hard for me to understand what he was saying.”
Briggs looked angrily at his visitor. “Why have you come to me with this vile story?” he cried.
Miss Wing met his looks without flinching. “In the first place, because I thought you ought to know it.”