She sank back on the sofa, and in a second recovered the composure which had been momentarily disturbed.
"Forgive me if I have spoken a little warmly," she said, "but I could not overlook what you said just now."
And then Hugh shot at her his last bolt. "I have not yet told you the name of the girl who drove my poor young friend Pomfret to his death."
"Tell it me, if you please, but I shall be no more likely to know it than the name of your friend, Mr. Pomfret. As I told you, I am a member of the respectable middle-class; I cannot boast that I am acquainted with the aristocracy, except through my husband."
"And yet your father, you told me just now, was an officer in the Twenty-fourth Lancers. Those officers were all recruited from the aristocracy, or at worst the upper middle-class."
"Oh, you are trying to cross-examine me and trap me," she cried bitterly.
But Hugh was inexorable. "The name of that woman was Norah Burton; her accomplice, her brother as she called him, was George Burton; he had other aliases," he thundered.
He had shot his last bolt, but Stella was not shaken. She rose up, quivering a little. He noticed that, but it might be due to the agitation of wronged innocence.
"The name conveys nothing to me. Your attitude during these few minutes has been very strange. You have insinuated that I am an adventuress on the same level with your Miss Norah something. Well, so far, poor dear Guy has not shot himself, and I will take good care he doesn't."
"You have much to gain by his living, if you love him—the title and everything. I have no doubt he has made his will. You would gain a good deal by his death. I cannot say, at the moment, which alternative would suit you better."