“It is,” Mary said quietly.
For a little, there was silence in the room. Once, Inspector Burke started to speak, but the magnate made an imperative gesture, and the officer held his peace. Always, Mary rested motionless. Within her, a fierce joy surged. Here was the time of her victory. Opposite her was the man who had caused her anguish, the man whose unjust action had ruined her life. Now, he was her humble petitioner, but this servility could be of no avail to save him from shame. He must drink of the dregs of humiliation—and then again. No price were too great to pay for a wrong such as that which he had put upon her.
At last, Gilder was restored in a measure to his self-possession. He spoke with the sureness of a man of wealth, confident that money will salve any wound.
“How much?” he asked, baldly.
Mary smiled an inscrutable smile.
“Oh, I don't need money,” she said, carelessly. “Inspector Burke will tell you how easy it is for me to get it.”
Gilder looked at her with a newly dawning respect; then his shrewdness suggested a retort.
“Do you want my son to learn what you are?” he said.
Mary laughed. There was something dreadful in that burst of spurious amusement.
“Why not?” she answered. “I'm ready to tell him myself.”