"And what'll you do? Think I care? I know what you'll do, all right, because I'm going make you do it."
"What do you mean?"
"Wha's more, I know now who gave you that ring. I was fool not to guess it before. I didn't give it to you—no! Mist' Matthias didn't give it to you—no! But somebody did give it to you—eh? Tha's right, isn't it? And his name—'s name was Vincent Marbridge! Wasn't it?"
He thrust his inflamed face close to hers, leering wickedly.
"Marbridge!" Joan echoed blankly.
"Vincent Marbridge—tha's the feller't give you the ring. He's the feller't could do it, too—got all the money in the world—enough to buy dozens'r rings—enough to buy you all them good clothes you got hold of after you threw me down and before I was ass enough to take up with you again! A' that, you were a fool not to get more outa him."
The insult ate like an acid into the pride of the girl. She flushed crimson, then in an instant paled again. Her eyes grew cold and hard.
"That will do," she said bitterly. "You've said enough—too much. After all I've endured from you—your drunkenness, your—"
There was a maniac glare in the eyes of the man as he thrust his face still closer.
"And what'll you do, eh?" he shouted violently. "What'll you do?"