Part 86 (1/2)

”Listen to you?” repeated Mrs. Glenarm. ”You have no right to be in this house. You have no right to force yourself in here. Leave the room!”

Anne's patience--so firmly and admirably preserved thus far--began to fail her at last.

”Take care, Mrs. Glenarm!” she said, still struggling with herself.

”I am not naturally a patient woman. Trouble has done much to tame my temper--but endurance has its limits. You have reached the limits of mine. I have a claim to be heard--and after what you have said to me, I _will_ be heard!”

”You have no claim! You shameless woman, you are married already. I know the man's name. Arnold Brinkworth.”

”Did Geoffrey Delamayn tell you that?”

”I decline to answer a woman who speaks of Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn in that familiar way.”

Anne advanced a step nearer.

”Did Geoffrey Delamayn tell you that?” she repeated.

There was a light in her eyes, there was a ring in her voice, which showed that she was roused at last. Mrs. Glenarm answered her, this time.

”He did tell me.”

”He lied!”

”He did _not!_ He knew. I believe _him._ I don't believe _you._”

”If he told you that I was any thing but a single woman--if he told you that Arnold Brinkworth was married to any body but Miss Lundie of Windygates--I say again he lied!”

”I say again--I believe _him,_ and not you.”

”You believe I am Arnold Brinkworth's wife?”

”I am certain of it.”

”You tell me that to my face?”

”I tell you to your face--you may have been Geoffrey Delamayn's mistress; you are Arnold Brinkworth's wife.”

At those words the long restrained anger leaped up in Anne--all the more hotly for having been hitherto so steadily controlled. In one breathless moment the whirlwind of her indignation swept away, not only all remembrance of the purpose which had brought her to Swanhaven, but all sense even of the unpardonable wrong which she had suffered at Geoffrey's hands. If he had been there, at that moment, and had offered to redeem his pledge, she would have consented to marry him, while Mrs.

Glenarm s eye was on her--no matter whether she destroyed herself in her first cool moment afterward or not. The small sting had planted itself at last in the great nature. The n.o.blest woman is only a woman, after all!

”I forbid your marriage to Geoffrey Delamayn! I insist on his performing the promise he gave me, to make me his wife! I have got it here in his own words, in his own writing. On his soul, he swears it to me--he will redeem his pledge. His mistress, did you say? His wife, Mrs. Glenarm, before the week is out!”

In those wild words she cast back the taunt--with the letter held in triumph in her hand.

Daunted for the moment by the doubt now literally forced on her, that Anne might really have the claim on Geoffrey which she advanced, Mrs.

Glenarm answered nevertheless with the obstinacy of a woman brought to bay--with a resolution not to be convinced by conviction itself.

”I won't give him up!” she cried. ”Your letter is a forgery. You have no proof. I won't, I won't, I won't give him up!” she repeated, with the impotent iteration of an angry child.

Anne pointed disdainfully to the letter that she held. ”Here is his pledged and written word,” she said. ”While I live, you will never be his wife.”