The man stood staring after her.  These words of hers held him motionless.  What if she flung her good name to the winds and actually carried out her threat?  What if she really spoke the truth?  Ay, what then?

CHAPTER XXVII

BETRAYS THE BOND

The girl hurried on, her heart filled with wonder, her eyes brimming with tears of indignation.  The one thought occupying her whole mind was whether Walter really wished to see her again.  Had Flockart spoken the truth?  The serious face of the man she loved so well rose before her blurred vision.  She had been his—­his very own—­until she had sent off that fateful letter.

In five minutes Flockart had again overtaken her.  His attitude was appealing.  He urged her to at least see her lover again even if she refused to write or return to her father.

“Why do you come here to taunt me like this?” she cried, turning upon him angrily.  “Once, because you were my mother’s friend, I believed in you.  But you deceived me, and in consequence you hold me in your power.  Were it not for that I could have spoken to my father—­have told him the truth and cleared myself.  He now believes that I have betrayed his business secrets, while at the same time he considers you to be his friend!”

“I am his friend, Gabrielle,” the man declared.

“Why tell me such a lie?” she asked reproachfully.  “Do you think I too am blind?”

“Certainly not.  I give you credit for being quite as clever and as intelligent as you are dainty and charming.  I——­”

“Thank you!” she cried in indignation.  “I require no compliments from you.”

“Lady Heyburn has expressed a wish to see you,” he said.  “She is still in San Remo, and asked me to invite you to go down there for a few weeks.  Your aunt has written her, I think, complaining that you are not very comfortable at Woodnewton.”

“I have not complained.  Why should Aunt Emily complain of me?  You seem to be the bearer of messages from the whole of my family, Mr. Flockart.”

“I am here entirely in your own interests, my dear child,” he declared with that patronising air which so irritated her.

“Not entirely, I think,” she said, smiling bitterly.

“I tell you, I much regret all that has happened, and——­”

“You regret!” she cried fiercely.  “Do you regret the end of that woman—­you know whom I mean?”

Beneath her straight glance he quivered.  She had referred to a subject which he fain would have buried for ever.  This dainty neat-waisted girl knew a terrible secret.  Was it not only too true, as Lady Heyburn had vaguely suggested a dozen times, that her mouth ought to be effectually sealed?