Hilary had stopped dead, his head held high.
“Mrs. Judith!”
But that haughty poise of his was no more than hoar frost on a sunny morning.
She came close to him till he saw the shine in her eyes, the proud rage of her white throat, and the way that glowing red brocade swayed up and down below a smother of white lace. Even the lover in him had guessed her capable of great passion, but now that he saw the full flare thereof he stood silent and astonished.
“That brute was waiting for you. I had looked for it. That is why I stayed upon the terrace. I knew that it must happen some day soon.”
“Sir Royce Severn?”
Her passion did not give him time to speak.
“So, Hilary Blake, he has frozen or frightened you—after his fashion! You hold your head high and look at me with haughty eyes! Must I defend myself, I, who have never justified myself to any man? By Heaven, why should I stoop to defend myself before any man? Why? Even before you!”
“‘Judith, I will break this fate of yours.’ He drew closer, but she put him back with her hands” (page 130).