“But I tell you I can’t get any,” she protested.
“You’ll have to. You don’t want Bracondale to know the truth, do you?” he asked.
She shook her head. Her eyes were wild and haggard, her cheeks as pale as death.
“Well, look here,” he said, again thrusting his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Give me five thousand pounds, and you shall have your letter. I will be silent, and we will never meet again. I’ll go back to America, and give my firm promise never to cross to Europe again.”
“Five thousand pounds!” echoed the distracted woman. “Why, I can’t get such a sum! You must surely know that.”
“You will do so somehow—in order to save your honour.”
“What is the use of discussing it?” she asked. “I tell you such a proposal is entirely out of the question.”
“Very well. Then you must bear the consequences. If you won’t pay me, perhaps Bracondale will.”
“What!” she gasped. “You would go to my husband?”
“Husband!” he sneered. “I’m your husband, my girl. And I mean that either you or Bracondale shall pay. You thought yourself rid of me, but you were mistaken, you see,” he added, with a hard laugh of triumph.