But the base ingratitude of the thing made me grind my teeth.
“Then he is a contemptible villain, just as I always thought, and ought to be tarred and feathered,” I said, impulsively.
She looked up at me quickly.
“I did not know that you ever said that.”
“Nonsense! I must have declared my instinctive dislike of the man a dozen times or more; but let that pass. After all, you cared for him, it seems, enough to—to give him a right to assume a protectorate,” for I could not, had my life depended on it, say outright “to be his wife,” I hated him so.
“Yes, because I was foolish enough to believe in him, and I felt so very lonely. He never disclosed his real character until we made this journey to Bolivar, where he had some interests in mines that needed personal attention; then I found the claws under the velvet, and realized that I had been terribly deceived.”
I knew now she was lost to me as the wife of another man, and steadied my nerves to meet the situation manfully, since I must act the friendly counselor to her.
If my ugly feeling toward Hilary Tempest now and again broke all bounds, it was excusable under the circumstances; but, on the whole, I think I controlled myself creditably.
“I don’t believe he ever owned a mine in Bolivar—he must have been there before to know the rascally alcalde, and it was all a big scheme to take you to a place where no law could intervene. Well, I’m very glad fortune allowed me to have a hand in the game, which, I suppose, is knocked into a cocked hat by your escape. It is a strange thing, without a doubt, and I give you my word I shall have a bone to pick with him if ever we chance to meet; I don’t care whether it is on Broadway or Piccadilly, I’m going to knock that rascal down.”
She gave a low cry.