"As my husband you will be considered one."
"I still don't want—"
"Now, darling, you just think you don't. You will change your mind. While we are about it, there is that former serving-wench of yours, Julia I think her name is—"
"What about—what do you know about her?"
"Enough. We women hear everything sooner or later."
The little cold spot in Padway's stomach spread and spread. "But—but—"
"Now, Martinus, it's a small favor that your betrothed is asking. And don't think that a person like me would be jealous of a mere house-servant. But it would be a humiliation to me if she were living after our marriage. It needn't be a painful death—some quick poison . . ."
Padway's face was as blank as that of a renting agent at the mention of cockroaches. His mind was whirling. There seemed to be no end to Mathaswentha's lethal little plans. His underwear was damp with cold sweat.
He knew now that he was not in the least in love with Mathaswentha. Let some roaring Goth have this fierce blond Valkyr! He preferred a girl with less direct ideas of getting what she wanted. And no insurance man would give a policy on a member of the Amal clan, considering their dark and bloody past.
"Well?" said Mathaswentha.