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Page 12
He stooped over her, and suddenly possessed himself of her hand.
Holding her hand firmly, he stooped a little lower; searching for
the signs which might answer him in her face. His own face
darkened slowly while he looked. He was beginning to suspect her;
and he acknowledged it in his next words.
"Something has changed you toward me, Clara. Somebody has
influenced you against me. Is it--you force me to ask the
question--is it some other man?"
"You have no right to ask me that."
He went on without noticing what she had said to him.
"Has that other man come between you and me? I speak plainly on
my side. Speak plainly on yours."
"I _have_ spoken. I have nothing more to say."
There was a pause. She saw the warning light which told of the
fire within him, growing brighter and brighter in his eyes. She
felt his grasp strengthening on her hand. He appealed to her for
the last time.
"Reflect," he said, "reflect before it is too late. Your silence
will not serve you. If you persist in not answering me, I shall
take your silence as a confession. Do you hear me?"
"I hear you."
"Clara Burnham! I am not to be trifled with. Clara Burnham! I
insist on the truth. Are you false to me?"
She resented that searching question with a woman's keen sense of
the insult that is implied in doubting her to her face.
"Mr. Wardour! you forget yourself when you call me to account in
that way. I never encouraged you. I never gave you promise or
pledge--"
He passionately interrupted her before she could say more.
"You have engaged yourself in my absence. Your words own it; your
looks own it! You have engaged yourself to another man!"
"If I _have_ engaged myself, what right have you to complain of
it?" she answered firmly. "What right have you to control my
actions--?"
The next words died away on her lips. He suddenly dropped her
hand. A marked change appeared in the expression of his eyes--a
change which told her of the terrible passions that she had let
loose in him. She read, dimly read, something in his face which
made her tremble--not for herself, but for Frank.
Little by little the dark color faded out of his face. His deep
voice dropped suddenly to a low and quiet tone as he spoke the
parting words.
"Say no more, Miss Burnham--you have said enough. I am answered;
I am dismissed." He paused, and, stepping close up to her, laid
his hand on her arm.
"The time may come," he said, "when I shall forgive you. But the
man who has robbed me of you shall rue the day when you and he
first met."
He turned and left her.
A few minutes later, Mrs. Crayford, entering the conservatory,
was met by one of the attendants at the ball. The man stopped as
if he wished to speak to her.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"I beg your pardon, ma'am. Do you happen to have a
smelling-bottle about you? There is a young lady in the
conservatory who is taken faint."
Between the Scenes
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