"Ah, coward!" cried Kate Pollard, now on her feet.
"Vance, will you leave me for a moment?"
For a moment he was white with malice, staring at the girl, then suddenly submitting to the inevitable, turned on his heel and left the room.
"Now," said Elizabeth, sitting erect again, "what is it? Why do you insist on talking to me of—him? And—what has he done?"
In spite of her calm, a quiver of emotion was behind the last words, and nothing of it escaped Kate Pollard.
"I knew," she said gently, "that two people couldn't live with Terry for twenty-four years and both hate him, as your brother does. I can tell you very quickly why I'm here, Miss Cornish."
"But first—what has he done?"
Kate hesitated. Under the iron self-control of the older woman she saw the hungry heart, and it stirred her. Yet she was by no means sure of a triumph. She recognized the most formidable of all foes—pride. After all, she wanted to humble that pride. She felt that all the danger in which Terry Hollis now stood, both moral and physical, was indirectly the result of this woman's attitude. And she struck her, deliberately cruelly.
"He's taken up with a gang of hard ones, Miss Cornish. That's one thing."
The face of Elizabeth was like stone.