She wanted to scald
this hateful old man with burning spray from the geyser. At last she
understood the rage which could kill. Yet it was in a low, restrained
voice that she heard herself speaking.
"Please don't go on," she warned him. "I suppose you don't quite
realize how hideously you're insulting me. A man who could say such
things wouldn't. And only such a man _could_ misunderstand--could
think that instead of refusing his money I was bidding for more. I
wanted to say that you could save your son and your pocket, too.
Neither are in danger from me."
"That ain't the way the boy feels about it," Peter senior slipped the
words in slyly. "If he did, I wouldn't have sent for you."
This was the last drop in the cup.
"What?" cried the girl, towering over the shrunken figure in the
revolving chair. "_Your son asked you to send for me_? Then he's as
bad, as cruel, as you are."
A red wave of rage swept over her. She no longer knew what she was
saying. Her one wish--her one object in life, it seemed just then--was
to hurt both Peters.
"I hate him!" she exclaimed. "Everything I've heard about him is true,
after all. He's a false friend and a false lover--a dangerous, cruel
man to women, just as I was warned he was.
Pages:
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426