“That is splendid, then,” she went on, “because I shall not feel I am really depriving you of anything by doing what I intend to do in throwing you over—­otherwise I should have been glad to settle something upon you for life!”

As he listened, John Derringham’s eyes flashed forth steel, but the pith of her speech had in it such divine portent, as it fell upon his ears, that the insult of its wording left him less roused than she hoped he would have been.

She saw that it was joy, not rage, which lay deep in his eyes, and the fury of her whole nature blazed up, so that she forgot the years of polish that she had acquired—­forgot her elaborately prepared plan that for an hour she would torture and play with him, as a cat plays with a mouse, and, crimsoning with wrath, she hurled forth her displeasure, cutting things short.

“You are only a paltry fortune-hunter, John Derringham, for all your fine talk,” she said loudly, raising her voice, and allowing it to regain its original broad accent, “and I have kept you on just to punish you.  But, if you thought I was ever going to marry you now that you are no better than a cripple, and don’t amount to thirty cents in the opinion of the world—­you or your Government either!—­you made a great mistake.  I have something much more delightful on hand—­so you can take back your ring and your freedom—­and go and find some meeker woman who will put up with your airs.”

And she picked up from a table beside her his diamond gage, which she had taken from her hand before his entrance, and threw it over to him—­and then leaned back as if exhausted with anger among the cushions.

John Derringham had grown very pale as the insulting words fell from her lips—­and now he rose to his feet, and standing there looked at her with pitying contempt.

“Then I will say good-by, Cecilia,” he said.  “The manner of your release of me cancels the pain it might otherwise have caused me.  I can only wish you all success with any new venture you may make—­and assure you always of my deep respect.”

And, calmly putting the ring in his pocket, he turned round and slowly left the room—­when, meeting Arabella upon the stairs, she was startled to see him shaking with sardonic laughter.

“Good-night, and good-by, dear Miss Clinker,” he said; “I am glad to have had this opportunity of thanking you again and again for your sweet goodness to me when I was ill; it was something which I shall never forget.”

“Oh, Mr. Derringham!” said Arabella, “you haven’t parted from Mrs. Cricklander, have you?” But she saw from his laughing eyes that he had, and, before she was aware of it, good, honest soul, she had blurted out:  “Oh, I’m so glad!”

Then they shook hands heartily, to hide her dreadful confusion, and John Derringham went on to his rooms at the Britannia, where he was staying, with nothing but a mad, wild joy in his heart.