During their conversation Olive had remained standing by the fireplace, her face rigid, her eyes fixed on the window. Nevertheless, it was evident she had heard all that was said. At her father's words she aroused herself and said:
"No, let him say what he will; it will be interesting."
Leicester felt the scorn of her words. At that moment he felt that she regarded him as a creature beneath contempt. Still, he was fighting for life, nay, more than life.
"I will admit," he said, "that appearances are against me." Here he hesitated like a man who could not find words to express his thoughts. He looked around almost helplessly, but only silence followed his words.
"Who gave you this—this information?" he demanded.
"That is no concern of yours or mine at present," she replied, "seeing even you cannot deny the truth of what my father has repeated."
"There—are extenuating circumstances," he stammered.
"Yes, I suppose there were," she said coldly. "You were drunk; at least I suppose that is the extenuating circumstance to which you refer. While you were in this condition you said that all women were base, and without honour. You said they could be all bought with a price. It seems that my price was the position which you could offer me. Satisfy my ambition, and then I would consent to be the wife of any man who might choose to ask me."
Never until then did he realise the meaning of what he had done. Even in the hours when he had regretted his wager most, he never felt its purport as he felt it then. Her words burnt him like hot iron, but he still spoke quietly.
"You put the case unfairly," he said; "it has never occurred to me in that light."