"Told the simple truth," she said, finishing the sentence for him. "I threatened to ring."
She went to the bell-rope. He sprang between her and it menacingly.
"I believe you are capable of violence," she said, surveying him with a taunting smile.
"I am capable of murder."
"Only for plunder," she said, still smiling.
He ground his teeth.
"You will drive me to it, Marion Butler."
At the mention of her maiden name, a swift flush of crimson darkened her face. Her eyes flashed, her nostrils dilated, her head bent forward, her mouth opened, the veins in her temple swelled. She clenched her hands--her bosom heaved--she stood still.
The sudden change in her appearance arrested his anger. He believed she was going to have a fit. Her maiden name had not been purposely uttered by him. It loosed some current in the brain which had not flowed for years.
Awhile she stood thus. Then all at once the colour fled from her face, and left it pallid, cold, rigid. She pressed her hand once or twice across her brow, and then, looking at him intently for a few moments, said, in a quiet, weary voice: