“Yes, I am cool. This box is mine, I tell you, and this much I will say, if you persist in disputing my right to it and its contents, I have only to appeal to a certain nobleman of the realm to substantiate my claim and protect me from your abuse,” Brownie said, suddenly resolving to appeal to Lord Dunforth, if Mrs. Coolidge persisted in her abuse.
“A nobleman of the realm! You!”
Intense scorn was breathed in these few words.
“Yes, madam, I! I have but to tell my story of these jewels to prove that they belong to me, and reveal your wickedness to those whom you do not care to have know it!”
“Pray, why did you not make this appeal in the first place?” queried Mrs. Coolidge, skeptically.
“Because I did not know then if he were living. I have since discovered that he is. Now, as I have no desire to prolong this interview further, I will wish you good-day.”
Brownie took a step toward the door, but her enemy, rendered desperate by her undaunted bearing, and the fearful consequences which would result if Isabel should thus suddenly be deprived of wearing the jewels, darted before her, shut the door, locking it, and put the key in her pocket.
“There! We will see who will win in this little game, Miss Douglas,” she said, between her teeth, while there was a dangerous gleam in her eye. “You do not leave this room,” she added, “until you give up that casket. How do you suppose Isabel will account for the disappearance of all her elegant jewels, which have been so much admired?”
“Madam, truth is a virtue which is safe always to cultivate,” Brownie answered, with quiet sarcasm.
She utterly baffled her; while she was so cool, so haughty, so beautiful standing so fearless there, with her jewels closely clasped in her arms, that she became enraged beyond endurance.