“Who are you?” she asked for the second time.
Grace roused herself and attempted to speak. Mercy stopped her with a scornful gesture of her hand.
“I remember!” she went on, with the same fiercely suppressed rage. “You are the madwoman from the German hospital who came here a week ago. I am not afraid of you this time. Sit down and rest yourself, Mercy Merrick.”
Deliberately giving her that name to her face, Mercy turned from her and took the chair which Grace had forbidden her to occupy when the interview began. Grace started to her feet.
“What does this mean?” she asked.
“It means,” answered Mercy, contemptuously, “that I recall every word I said to you just now. It means that I am resolved to keep my place in this house.”
“Are you out of your senses?”
“You are not far from the bell. Ring it. Do what you asked me to do. Call in the whole household, and ask them which of us is mad—you or I.”
“Mercy Merrick! you shall repent this to the last hour of your life!”
Mercy rose again, and fixed her flashing eyes on the woman who still defied her.