“Is he your world, then?” demanded Van Hupfeldt, bitterly, and even Mrs. Mordaunt broke in with her moan:
“Oh, Vi!”
“Let us end this distressing scene,” went on Van Hupfeldt with a repressed indignation that was exceedingly convincing. “Mr. Sharpe, you see, of course, that Miss Mordaunt cannot be expected to complete these agreements to-day. Please be here to-morrow at the same time. Before that hour I shall be back from London with all the witnesses and documents which shall prove to Miss Mordaunt’s complete satisfaction that she has been grossly misled by a cleverly concocted story. Indeed, I would be glad if, subsequently, you interviewed this David Harcourt. It seems to me almost credible now that he himself believed the extraordinary tale he has made up.”
“Whatever you please shall be done, sir,” said the lawyer. “And may I add, for the benefit of these two ladies, that—er—my own knowledge of your position and—er—career completely excludes such a preposterous—er—”
“Thank you, Mr. Sharpe,” broke in Van Hupfeldt. “You mean that kindly, I know; but this is a matter between Miss Mordaunt and myself at the moment.”
The solicitor gathered up his papers and withdrew. For a little while there was no sound in the room except the mother’s sobbing and the daughter’s labored breathing; for unhappy Violet was so torn with doubt that her breast appeared to be unable to harbor its agitation. A few minutes ago she deemed herself free from a compact hateful to her soul; yet, here was Van Hupfeldt more convincing, more compelling, than ever. To her terrified eyes the man assumed the shape and properties of a python, a monstrous snake from which there was no escape.
And then the sibilant hiss of his voice reached her dulled ears. “Mrs. Mordaunt, may I appeal to your authority? Surely this Harcourt will not be admitted here in my absence? I do not ask much, only a respite of twenty-four hours. Then I return, with all the proofs.”
“Why have they been withheld so long?” came Violet’s agonized protest.
“I do declare, Vi,” broke in her mother, “that you would try the patience of Job! Have you lost all your fine sense of honor and fairness? What more can Mr. Van Hupfeldt do to please you? And where do you meet this young man who so unwarrantably thrusts himself into our affairs, I should like to know?”
Poor Violet knew that the British matron instinct was fighting against her now. And there never was a girl more bound up in her family ties than this one. “Forgive me, mother,” she said wearily. “The long struggle is at an end, now. Let Mr. Van Hupfeldt keep his promise, and I shall not cause further difficulty.”