“It matters little,” he answered sternly. “You’ll keep your mouth closed for your own sake.”
“What have I to fear, pray?” she asked impatiently. “It seems you think me a weak, impressionable schoolgirl, who will tremble under your menaces. Why, the worst accusation you can make, is that I have been guilty of that crime so terrible to the eyes of the hypocritical English—unconventionality. Don’t you think I could easily disprove your statements, especially to a man who loves me?”
“Loves you!” repeated the artist, with a harsh, derisive laugh. “He wouldn’t be guilty of such romantic folly.”
“You are mistaken.”
“Then I can quickly put an end to his fool’s paradise.”
“How?” she asked breathlessly.
“I will find the means. If nothing else avails, he shall be made acquainted with the history of La—”
“Hear me!” she interrupted fiercely. “We are both past masters in the art of lying, John Egerton; we have both led double lives, and graduated as deceivers. Breathe one word to him, and I swear that at any cost the world shall know your secret. You should know by this time how futile it is to trifle with me, especially when I hold the trump card. Hugh has been your friend, but now he is my lover; and, furthermore, I mean that he shall marry me.”
The man was silent.
He admitted to himself that her bold, passionate words were true. He was powerless to give his friend an insight into her true character, fearing the consequences, and knowing too well how relentless she was, and that she would not spare him.