Obeying a sudden, desperate impulse, she pushed open the gate and stepped out into the road.
"You are right," she said, bitterly. "Do you think that the proud, rich Le Roys would have Laurel Vane for their guest? My errand at Eden is done, Mr. Powell. Let me pass, if you please."
He stood before her, dumbfounded at her coolness, glancing from her pale, agitated face to the flowers she carried in her apron with ostentatious care.
"Your errand," he stammered. "The flowers?"
"Yes," she answered, calmly. "I must take them home. Will you please to stand out of the way, Mr. Powell?"
"One moment," he said, still hindering her way. "Where is your home? Where can I find you?"
Her eyes flashed scornfully upon him.
"What can it matter to you?" she said. "Do you think I would receive you in my home? You, the cowardly insulter of helpless girlhood? Never! I hate you as I hate the slimy, crawling serpent! You have nothing to do with me. Out of my way!"
He caught her fiercely by the arm and hissed:
"I shall find you out! Be sure of that, my incarnation of indignant virtue! And when I do, Laurel Vane, you shall find that the serpent you hate can sting!"