“Oh! I insult her, do I? Listen to me. One of three things will happen. She will be entrapped into consenting to it—or frightened into consenting to it—or drugged into consenting to it—”
Mr. Rayburn was too indignant to let her go on.
“You are talking nonsense,” he said. “There can be no marriage; the law forbids it.”
“Are you one of the people who see no further than their noses?” she asked insolently. “Won’t the law take his money? Is he obliged to mention that he is related to her by marriage, when he buys the license?” She paused; her humor changed; she stamped furiously on the floor. The true motive that animated her showed itself in her next words, and warned Mr. Rayburn to grant a more favorable hearing than he had accorded to her yet. “If you won’t stop it,” she burst out, “I will! If he marries anybody, he is bound to marry ME. Will you take her away? I ask you, for the last time—will you take her away?”
The tone in which she made that final appeal to him had its effect.
“I will go back with you to John Zant’s house,” he said, “and judge for myself.”
She laid her hand on his arm:
“I must go first—or you may not be let in. Follow me in five minutes; and don’t knock at the street door.”
On the point of leaving him, she abruptly returned.
“We have forgotten something,” she said. “Suppose my master refuses to see you. His temper might get the better of him; he might make it so unpleasant for you that you would be obliged to go.”