“It is true. To-morrow I shall go to Liphook and expose your infamous behaviour.”
“If you dare,” he said, almost fiercely, and then, suddenly, he changed his note. “I was obliged to do it, Anne,” he added, as if he had suddenly seen that the game was up, and lying would serve him nothing. “But I was fond of you; I told you there were many difficulties the night I asked you to marry me.”
“No, Alfred”—and for the first time her lips quivered—“you were not fond of me, even then. You were under the impression that you would get the money Sir William Rammage had left me in his will.”
“What should I know about his will?”
“You were aware of its contents. You went to him in regard to the instructions. I have heard everything from his own lips.” He was silent for a moment, and still there was no expression in his dull eyes.
“Rammage could not tell you that I was married,” he said presently. “Where did you get that ridiculous story from?”
“It is not a ridiculous story. You have married a common dressmaker, and you presumed after that to insult and impose on me.”
“What are you going to do—what do you want me to do?” he asked, almost curiously.
“I shall not treat you with the severity you deserve, but you will leave this house to-night and never enter it again.”
“I should go to Liphook. You would not like that, Anne.”