“And I hope you have gained the mysterious end you had in view,” I said, with bitter sarcasm.
“Yes, I have,” she replied, with an intenseness in her voice that surprised me. “I have gained my object even at risk of being discarded by you, Geoffrey, and being branded as a base adventuress.”
“Even at the cost of the life of the man you deceived?” I hazarded.
She started at my words. Her pale lips trembled, and in her eyes was a strange look, as if haunted by some spectral fear. The effect of this remark was extraordinary, and I at once added,—
“Remember, you suspect that Dudley’s death was not due to natural causes.”
“Suspect?” she cried. “I know he was foully murdered.”
“By whom?” I inquired, with breathless eagerness.
“I have yet to discover that,” she answered, in a low voice. “But I will make the elucidation of the mystery the one object of my life. It is I alone who will avenge his murder.”
“Your very words betray your love for him,” I exclaimed, disgusted.
“I tell you it is not because I loved him,” she protested, with indignation.