“Hilton Field,” she said, “you turned me from your door, but you did not recognize in the richly dressed woman the poor ballet girl when you came here this morning. For every heartache you caused me, you shall suffer a hundred. Your milk-and-water daughter weeps for you, and it will be long until she dries her eyes.”
The banker slept on, and his breathing was as regular as that of a tired child.
Sophie heaped threat after threat upon the sleeper.
Had she had her way, the woman would have him killed—indeed, she would not hesitate committing the deed herself.
This beautiful woman possessed the heart of a demon.
Black-hearted and unforgiving, there was no crime so dark that she would not engage in, if the commission of it served her purpose or brought with it revenge.
She still bent over the banker, when a hand was placed upon her shoulder.
“Oh, it’s you, Wilbur!”
“They have brought him here, I see,” remarked the newcomer. “He looks badly shaken up. I guess the boys must have given the old fellow rough treatment.”
“And are you sorry for that?” she asked, bringing her face close to his and looking him straight in the eyes.