"And if you hesitate now," he said, vindictively, "I know the reason, and I know it is a reason you may as well put out of your mind. Oh, I am quite aware of the shilly-shallying that has been going on between you and that fellow Moore—I know you've been struck, like all the rest of the women—but you may as well give up that fancy. Mr. Moore isn't much of a catch, now!"
She raised her head, and there was an angry flash in her eyes that for a second frightened him.
"Magnanimous!" she said, with a curl of her lip. "To taunt a man with being ill, when perhaps he is lying on his death-bed!"
"It is not because he is ill," he retorted, and his naturally pale face was somewhat paler, "I dare say he'll get well enough again. It is because he is dead broke and ruined. And do you know who did it?" he went on, more impetuously still. "Well, I did it! I said I would break him, and I broke him. I knew he was only playing with you and making a fool of you, and I said to myself that I would have it out with him—either he or I would have to go to the right about. I said I would smash him, and I have smashed him. Do you see this check? That was waiting for me at my rooms this morning. Eleven hundred pounds—that was two days' work only, and I had plenty more before. But do you think it is his check? Not a bit! It is drawn out by a friend of his. It is lent him. He is just so
much the more in debt, and I don't believe he has a farthing in the world. And that's the wonderful creature all you women are worshipping!"
Now this foolish boy ought to have taken care, but he had been carried away on a whirlwind of jealous rage. All the time that he was pouring forth his vengeful story, Miss Burgoyne's face had become more and more hard; and when he ceased, she answered him, in low and measured tones that conveyed the most bitter scorn.
"Yes," she said, "we women are worthy of being despised, when—when we think anything of such creatures as men are capable of showing themselves to be! Oh, it is a fine time to come and boast of what you have done, when the man you hate—when the man you fear—is lying ill, delirious, perhaps dying. That is the time to boast of your strength, your prowess! And how dare you come to me," she continued, with a sudden toss of her head, "with all this story of gambling and debt? What is it to me? It seems that is the way men fight now—with a pack of cards! That is fighting between—men, and the victor waves a check in triumph, and comes and brags about it to women! Well—I—I don't appreciate—such—such manliness. I think you had better—go and see to your father's funeral—instead of—of bringing such a story to me!" said Miss Burgoyne, with heaving bosom; and it was real indignation this time, for there were tears in her eyes as she turned proudly away from him and marched straight for the door of the room.
"For Heaven's sake!" he cried, intercepting her. "Kate, I did not mean to offend you! I take back what I said. How could any one help being jealous—seeing your off-and-on relations with him all this time, and you would never say one thing or another. Forgive me."
She turned to him, and there were still indignant tears in her eyes.
"It isn't fair!" she said. "It isn't fair!—he is ill; you might have a little humanity."