“You don’t suppose she knows, do you?”
“And what if I tell her?” whispered Grace hurriedly, distracted, only knowing that this horror must be prevented. “You can’t marry; you haven’t the right to now. It’s too infamous. I won’t let you. I’ll do anything to stop it. Oh, Reggie, Reggie, don’t leave me! I can’t bear it.”
“Don’t be a fool! It had got to come to an end some day or other. I want to marry and settle down.”
Mrs. Castillyon looked at him, and despair and anger and vehement hatred chased one another across her mobile face.
“We’ll see about that,” she whispered vindictively.
Reggie went up to her and caught her violently by the shoulders, so that she could hardly bear the pain.
“Look here, none of your little games! If I find out that you’ve been putting a spoke in my wheel, I’ll give you away. You’d better hold your tongue, my dear; and if you don’t, every letter you’ve written to me shall be sent to your mother-in-law.”
Grace turned deathly pale.
“You promised me you’d burn them.”
“I dare say, but you’re not the only woman I’ve had to do with. I always like to have a weapon or two in my hands, and I thought it might be useful if I kept your letters. They’d make pretty reading, wouldn’t they?”