He smiled, and his keen eyes shone with a dangerous glitter.
“Ah, you do?” he sneered. “Well, you shall be alone in good time, but at present I have something to say to you, and you must listen to me.”
“Must I?”
Violet’s temper began to gain the ascendency. What right had this man to come to her in her own home and command her to listen to him?
“You are inclined to be impudent, Mr. Warrington,” she added, sharply.
“Not at all.” He drew a little nearer. “See here, Violet, why can’t you and I be friends? I prefer it so, and really you will find it much more pleasant since we are compelled to come in contact with each other.”
“I do not understand you. Why am I compelled to associate with you?”
To save her life, Violet could not repress the contempt in her voice as she spoke the personal pronoun. Gilbert Warrington’s face flushed for a moment.
“You do not understand me. I have not yet explained to you,” he returned. “Miss Violet Arleigh, you are aware that for years I have transacted business with your mother—the late Mrs. Rosamond Arleigh? You, of course, knew nothing of the nature of that business, as it was of a wholly private nature; in short, a secret, a bad, black secret between Mrs. Arleigh and myself.”
“If so”—Violet’s voice was cold and scornful—“it was not her secret. She was never guilty of wrong-doing.”