“Everything!” she answered. “Everything! Sara Tennant is the woman he loves.”
“And have you come here to blame me for the fact that she does not return his love?”—with an accent of ironical amusement.
“No, I don't blame you. But if it had not been for you she would have married him. They were engaged, and then”—her voice shook a little—“you came! You came—and robbed Tim of his happiness.”
Trent smiled sarcastically.
“An instance of the grinding of the mills of God,” he said lightly. “You robbed me—you'll agree?—of something I valued. And now—inadvertently—I have robbed you in return of your son's happiness. It appears”—consideringly—“an unusually just dispensation of Providence. And the sins of the parents are visited on the child, as is the usual inscrutable custom of such dispensations.”
Elisabeth seemed to disregard the bitter gibe his speech contained. She looked at him with steady eyes.
“I want you—out of the way,” she said deliberately.
“Indeed?” The indifferent, drawling tone was contradicted by the sudden dangerous light that gleamed in the hazel eyes. “You mean you want me—to pay—once more?”
She looked away uneasily, flushing a little.
“I'm afraid it does amount to that,” she admitted.