"But I still have one man who loves me—a man who will yet stand my friend and defend me, even against you!"
"Walter Murie!" he laughed, with a quick gesture of disregard. "You believe him to be your friend? Recollect, my dear Gabrielle, that men are deceivers ever."
"So it seems in your case," she exclaimed with poignant bitterness. "You have brought scandalous comment upon my father's name, and yet you are utterly unconcerned."
"Because, as I have already told you, your father is my friend."
"And it is his money which you spend so freely," she said, in a low, hard voice of reproach. "It comes from him."
"His money!" he exclaimed quickly. "What do you mean? What do you imply?"
"Simply that among my father's accounts a short time back I found two cheques drawn by Lady Heyburn in your favour."
"And you told your father of them, of course!" he exclaimed with sarcasm. "A remarkable discovery, eh?"
"I told him nothing," was her bold reply. "Not because I wished to shield you, but because I did not wish to pain him unduly. He has worries sufficient, in all conscience."
"Your devotion is really most charming," the man declared calmly, leaning against the table and examining her critically from head to foot. "Sir Henry believes in you. You are his dutiful daughter—pure, good, and all that!" he sneered. "I wonder what he would say if he—well, if he knew just a little of the truth, of what happened that day at Chantilly?"