"I don't gamble for diamonds, my good
Kelly. Well, Mrs. Ranger, I hope you had a pleasant journey here."
"He gambles for souls," was the thought in Sylvia's mind, as with a
quick effort she controlled herself and passed on in icy silence.
She would never voluntarily speak to Kieff again. He was an open
enemy; and she turned from him with the same loathing that she
would have shown for a reptile in her path.
His laugh--that horrible, slippery sound--followed her. He said
something in Dutch to the man who lounged beside him, and at once
another laugh--Piet Vreiboom's--bellowed forth like the blare of a
bull. She flinched in spite of herself. Every nerve shrank. Yet
the next moment, superbly, she wheeled and faced them. There was
something intolerable in that laughter, something that stung her
beyond endurance.
"Tell me," she commanded Kelly, "tell me what
these--gentlemen--find about me to laugh at!"
Her face was white as death, but her eyes shone red as leaping
flame. She was terrible in that moment--terrible as a lioness at
bay--and the laughter died. Piet Vreiboom slunk a little back, his
low brows working uneasily.
Kelly swallowed an oath in his throat; his hands were clenched.
But Kieff, in a voice smooth as oil, made ready, mocking answer.
"Oh, not at you, madam! Heaven forbid! What could any man find to
smile at in such a model of virtuous propriety as yourself?"
He was baiting her openly, and she knew it.
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