“In what way did he insult you?” she asked, in a low voice.
I told her all, briefly. She still looked anxious.
“Did he mention my name?” she said.
I glanced at her troubled features in profound contempt. She feared the dying man might have made some confession to me! I answered:
“No; not after our quarrel. But I hear he went to your house to kill you! Not finding you there, he only cursed you.”
She heaved a sigh of relief. She was safe now, she thought!
Her red lips widened into a cruel smile.
“What bad taste!” she said, coldly. “Why he should curse me I cannot imagine! I have always been kind to him—too kind.”
Too kind indeed! kind enough to be glad when the object of all her kindness was dead! For she was glad! I could see that in the murderous glitter of her eyes.
“You are not sorry?” I inquired, with an air of pretended surprise.