The self-possessed and supercilious man of society quailed before the ci-devant washwoman. What would she care for a scene? What shrinking would she have from the insulting word, the coarse taunt? What fine sense had she to stop her at the point where enough had been said, and prevent the gratuitous pouring out of all that anger that showed in her sullen face? Lawrence Gerald took a strong hold on his self-control, and settled instantly upon the only course of action possible to him. He could not defy the woman, for he was in some way in her power. He could marry Annette in spite of her, but that would be to make Annette worse than worthless to him. Not one dollar could he ever hope to receive if he made an enemy of Mrs. Ferrier; and money he must have. He felt now with a new keenness, when he perceived himself to be in danger of loss, how terrible it would be to find those expectations of prosperity which he had been entertaining snatched away from him.
Mrs. Ferrier looked at him glumly, not lady enough to point him to a seat, or to smooth in any way the approaches to a disagreeable interview. There was no softness nor delicacy in her nature, and now her heart was full of jealous suspicion and a sense of outraged justice, as she understood justice.
The young man seated himself in a chair directly in front of her—he would not act as though afraid to meet her gaze—leaned forward with his arms on his knees, looked down at the eyeglasses he held, and waited for her to begin. A more polite attitude would have been thrown away on her, and he needed some little shield. Besides, her threatening looks had been so undisguised that an assumption of smiling ease would only have increased her anger.
The woman’s hard, critical eyes looked him over as he waited there, and marked the finish of his toilet, and reckoned the cost of it, and snapped at sight of the deep purple amethysts in his cuff-buttons, not knowing that they were heir-looms, and the gift of his mother. He was dressed quite like a fine gentleman, she thought; and yet, what was he? Nothing but a pauper who was trying to get her money. She longed to tell him so, and would have expressed herself quite plainly to that effect upon a very small provocation.
“I want to know if you’ve broken that promise you made me six months ago,” she said roughly, having grown more angry with this survey. “I hear that you have.”
“What promise?” he asked calmly, glancing up.
“You know well enough what I mean,” she retorted. “You promised never to gamble again, and I told you what you might depend on if you did, and I mean to keep my word. Now, I should like to know the truth. I’ve been hearing things about you.”
A deep red stained his face, and his lips were pressed tightly together. It was hard to be spoken to in that way, and not resent it. “When I make a promise, I usually keep it,” he replied, in a constrained voice.
“That’s no answer to my question,” Mrs. Ferrier exclaimed, her hands clenching themselves in her lap. “I’ll have the truth without any roundabout. Somebody—no matter who—has told me you owe fifteen hundred dollars that you lost by gambling. Is it true or not? That is what I want to know.”
Lawrence Gerald raised his bright eyes, and looked steadily at her. “It is false!” he said.