"What are your terms?" sullenly.
"More liberal than you deserve. An annuity larger than anything you ever had before you married me, a house up the Hudson, and your promise never to return to New York. With my death, the annuity will cease, and you will be penniless. I don't choose to be put out of the way by you or your poisoning cousin."
Blanche Walraven's eyes flashed fury.
"You are a merciless, iron-hearted man, Carl Walraven, and I hate you! I close with your terms, because I can not help myself; but I'll have revenge yet!"
"And the very first attempt you make," said Mr. Walraven, coolly, "I'll hand you over to the law as I would the commonest vagrant that prowls the streets. Don't think to intimidate me, my lady, with your tragedy airs and fiery glances. Mr. Sardonyx will wait upon you this afternoon. If you can make it convenient to leave to-morrow, you will very much oblige me."
His last words were almost lost. Mrs. Walraven, with a hysterical scream, had fallen back among the pillows in strong convulsions. He just stopped to give one backward glance of pitiless loathing, then rang for her maid and left the room.
And so parted the ill-assorted husband and wife to meet no more. So ended one mercenary marriage.
Carl Walraven went down-stairs, and found Mollie uneasily awaiting him.
"It's all settled, Mollie," he said. "You are the little mistress of the house from this day forward, until"—looking at her earnestly—"you get married."
Mollie reddened and shook her head.