“I shall follow her!” he exclaimed hotly, and rushed out on the lawn, where Mrs. Ives was leisurely promenading under the trees.
She cowered a little when she saw his handsome face so pale with anger, and his burning dark eyes fixed on her with such resentful passion.
Controlling his fierce anger by a strong effort of will, he advanced toward her, and said, with forced calmness:
“I am curious to know, Mrs. Ives, what kind of character you have given me to Mrs. Robbins, since it had the effect of incensing her so bitterly against me?”
She tossed up her head defiantly, and replied:
“It was your flirting with her niece that angered Mrs. Robbins.”
His brow darkened, and he waved his hand, as if thrusting aside her petty subterfuge.
“Mrs. Robbins told me that she had had my character from you.”
“Oh, pshaw! What was the foolish creature thinking of?” cried the lady airily. “She asked me about you, and I merely said that you were fickle-minded—that was all. You will grant that I had room to say that much, after your treatment of my daughter?”
He recoiled from the envenomed thrust, and turned away, with a cold bow. He felt sure that she had said much more, but she was not a man—he could not force her to answer for the slanders she had uttered against him.