“Women are marvelous,” he said curiously. “I did not think that you so hated me.”
He took her by the shoulder and looked into her shrinking face.
“I did not think that you so hated me,” he repeated.
“Have I not cause to hate you, Lord Stair?” she demanded hoarsely. “I swore that as you had been false, cruel and merciless, that even as that dear blood cried out to me—you should pay to the last bitterness.”
His hand fell from her shoulder.
“Why have you come here now?”
She moved away blindly through the shadows, her hands clenched tight on her bosom.
“Have they all gone, Lord Stair—all?”
“Yes—they are lackeys.”
“And your wife?” said Delia suddenly.