“I shall act just as I think proper,” she exclaimed, halting a moment and facing him.  “Please understand that though I have been forced in the past to act as you have indicated, because I feared you—­because I had my reputation and my father’s honour at stake—­I hold you in terror no longer, Mr. Flockart.”

“Well, I’m glad you’ve told me that,” he said, laughing as though he treated her declaration with humour.  “It’s just as well, perhaps, that we should now thoroughly understand each other.  Yet if I were you I wouldn’t do anything rash.  By telling the truth you’d be the only sufferer, you know.”

“The only sufferer!  Why?”

“Well, you don’t imagine I should be such a fool as to admit that what you said was true, do you?”

She looked at him in surprise.  It had never occurred to her that he, with his innate unscrupulousness and cunning, might deny her allegations, and might even be able to prove them false.

“The truth could not be denied,” she said simply.  “Recollect the cutting from the Edinburgh paper.”

“Truth is denied every day in courts of law,” he retorted.  “No.  Before you act foolishly, remember that, put to the test, your word would stand alone against mine and those of other people.

“Why, the very story you would tell would be so utterly amazing and startling that the world would declare you had invented it.  Reflect upon it for a moment, and you’ll find, my dear girl, that silence is golden in this, as in any other circumstance in life.”

She raised her eyes to his, and met his gaze firmly.  “So you defy me to speak?” she cried.  “You think that I will still remain in this accursed bondage of yours?”

“I utter no threats, my dear child,” replied Flockart.  “I have never in my life threatened you.  I merely venture to point out certain difficulties which you might have in substantiating any allegation which you might make against me.  For that reason, if for none other, is it not better for us to be friends?”

“I am not the friend of my father’s enemy!” she declared.

“You are quite heroic,” he declared with a covert sneer.  “If you really are bent upon providing the halfpenny newspapers with a fresh sensation, pray let me know in plenty of time, won’t you?”

“I’ve had sufficient of your taunts,” cried the girl, bursting into a flood of hot tears.  “Leave me.  I—­I’ll say no further word to you.”

“Except to forgive me,” He added.

“Why should I?” she asked through her tears.

“Because, for your own sake—­for the sake of your future—­it will surely be best,” he pointed out.  “You, no doubt, in ignorance of legal procedure, believed that what you alleged would be accepted in a court of justice.  But reflect fully before you again threaten me.  Dry your eyes, or your aunt may suspect something wrong.”

She did not reply.  What he said impressed her, and he did not fail to recognise that fact.  He smiled within himself when he saw that he had triumphed.  Yet he had not gained his point.