“Very well, then. I find I am compelled to tell you something I never intended you should know––something that, unless I am greatly mistaken in my estimate of you, will change your high and mighty notions altogether.”
The woman was bending so near her, her breath almost scorched her cheek.
“I want money,” she said, her thin lips quivering in an evil smile, “and it is but right that you should supply me with it. Look at the diamonds, representing a fortune, gleaming on your throat, while I am lacking the necessaries of life.”
“What is that to me?” cried Pluma, scornfully. “Allow me to pass from the room, and I will send my maid back to you with a twenty-dollar note. My moments are precious; do not detain me.”
The woman laughed contemptuously.
“Twenty dollars, indeed!” she sneered, mockingly. “Twenty thousand will not answer my purpose. From this time forth I intend to live as befits a lady. I want that necklace you are wearing, as security that you will produce the required sum for me before to-morrow night.”
The coarse proposal amazed Pluma.
“I thought Whitestone Hall especially guarded against thieves,” she said, steadily. “You seem to be a desperate woman; but I, Pluma Hurlhurst, do not fear you. We will pass over the remarks you have just uttered as simply beyond discussion.”
With a swift, gliding motion she attempted to reach the bell-rope. Again the woman intercepted her.