“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.  An awful wave of anger surged through her brain, such anger as had never before possessed her.  For the moment she felt sick, as if she had drunk of some overpowering drug.  He meant to humiliate her publicly.  She realized it in a flash.  And she was powerless to prevent it.  Whether she went or whether she stayed, he would accomplish his end.  Among all the strange faces that stared at her, only Kelly’s, worried and perplexed, betrayed the smallest concern upon her account.  And he, since her unexpected action, had been obviously at a loss as to how to deal with the situation or with her.  Single-handed, he would have faced the pack; but with her at his side he was hopelessly hampered, afraid of blundering and making matters worse.

“Ah, come away!” he muttered to her.  “It’s not the place for ye at all.  They’re hogs and swine, the lot of ’em.  Don’t ye be drawn by the likes of them!”

But she stood her ground, for there was hot blood in Sylvia and a fierce pride that would not tamely suffer outrage.  Moreover, she had been wounded cruelly, and the desire for vengeance welled up furiously within her.  Now that she stood in the presence of her enemy, the impulse to strike back, however futile the blow, urged her and would not be denied.

She confronted Saul Kieff with tense determination.  “You will either repeat—­and explain—­what you said to your friend regarding me just now,” she said, in tones that rang fearlessly, echoing through the crowded place, “or you will admit yourself a contemptible coward for vilely slandering a woman whom you know to be defenceless!”

It was regally spoken.  She stood splendidly erect, facing him, withering him from head to foot with the scorching fire of her scorn.  A murmur of sympathy went through the rough crowd of men gathered before her.  One or two cursed Kieff in a growling undertone.  But Kieff himself remained absolutely unmoved.  He was smoking a cigarette and he inhaled several deep breaths before he replied to her challenge.  Then, with his basilisk eyes fixed immovably upon her, as it were clinging to her, he made his deadly answer:  “I will certainly tell you what I said, madam, since you desire it.  But the explanation is one which surely only you can give.  I said to my friend, ‘There goes the wife of the Rangers.’  Did I make a mistake?”