But she gave no sign of faltering before the tempest of his insistence.
“Mr. Gastineau,” she said, as coldly as the situation permitted, and with more than a touch of decision, “this interview has lasted long enough, too long. Let it come to an end now. No good purpose can be served by my listening to you any longer. Understand once, and for all time, that under no circumstances can I accept your proposal, which is made dishonourable by the very fact of my engagement to Mr. Herriard. That is all I have to say to you. Please go.”
Gastineau’s face had been dark with a strong man’s repressed anger; now it lightened strangely as with the anticipation of a premeditated stroke. “Then you reject my offer, Countess, absolutely?” he demanded quietly.
“Absolutely.” The grey eyes met his steadily, without a sign of compromise. And in his there was no acceptance of defeat, but rather a challenge.
“I have asked you to do nothing dishonourable, Countess,” he said calmly, “knowing, as I do, that your engagement with Herriard will come to nothing.”
More than a challenge now; it was a threat.
“I cannot discuss that with you,” Alexia returned.
“If,” he said, with a cold deliberateness that was significant of a purpose, “you have any regard for Geoffrey Herriard, you will best show it by accepting me.”
“You have had my answer,” she said, moving towards the bell.
“Given in ignorance,” he retorted, “in wilful blindness as to what the future may hold for you.” He moved nearer to her, his face resolute and threatening. “If Herriard is not already dead, he will never live to be your husband.”