“If I have engaged myself, what right have you to complain of it?” she answered firmly. “What right have you to control my actions—?”
The next words died away on her lips. He suddenly dropped her hand. A marked change appeared in the expression of his eyes—a change which told her of the terrible passions that she had let loose in him. She read, dimly read, something in his face which made her tremble—not for herself, but for Frank.
Little by little the dark color faded out of his face. His deep voice dropped suddenly to a low and quiet tone as he spoke the parting words.
“Say no more, Miss Burnham—you have said enough. I am answered; I am dismissed.” He paused, and, stepping close up to her, laid his hand on her arm.
“The time may come,” he said, “when I shall forgive you. But the man who has robbed me of you shall rue the day when you and he first met.”
He turned and left her.
A few minutes later, Mrs. Crayford, entering the conservatory, was met by one of the attendants at the ball. The man stopped as if he wished to speak to her.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am. Do you happen to have a smelling-bottle about you? There is a young lady in the conservatory who is taken faint.”