“Thank you.”
Her eyes sparkled. Her well modulated voice was hardly under control. Five thousand pounds was a great deal of money; but the tragedy of Etta Stampa’s life might have been worth more. How could she find out the whole truth? She must accomplish that, in some way.
Therein, however, she greatly miscalculated. Bower divined her thought almost before it was formed. “For goodness’ sake, let us put things in plain English!” he said. “I am paying you handsomely to save the woman I am going to marry from some little suffering and heartache. Perhaps it is unnecessary. Her fine nature might forgive a man a transgression of his youth. At any rate, I avert the risk by this payment. The check will be payable to you personally. In other words, you must place it to your own account in your bank. Any breach of our contract in letter or spirit during the next two days will be punished by its stoppage. After that time, the remotest hint on your part of any scandalous knowledge affecting me, or Helen, or the causes which led to my present weakness in allowing you to blackmail me, will imply the immediate issue of a warrant for your arrest. Need I explain the position at greater length?”
“No,” said Millicent, who wished now that she had bitten off the end of her tongue before she vented her spleen to the Vavasours and the Wraggs.
“On second thoughts,” went on Bower unconcernedly, “I forego the stipulation as to a letter of apology. I don’t suppose Helen will value it. Assuredly, I do not.”
The cheapening of her surrender stung more than she counted on. “I have tried to avoid the appearance of uncalled for rudeness to-day,” she blurted out.
“Well—yes. What is the number of your room?”
She told him.
“I shall send the check to you at once. Have you finished?”
He accompanied her to the door, bowed her out, and came back. Smiling affably, he pulled a chair to Mrs. de la Vere’s side.