Pell glared at her, fury in the look.  “What do you think I am?  Crazy?” he argued.

“But that isn’t honest!” Lucia fearlessly said.  “It’s as crooked as it can be!  And you know it.”

“But it’s legal!” Pell fired back.  “And what do I care—­what does anybody care—­so long as it’s legal!  Ha! the courts would be with me!  Moreover, it’s the way you get the clothes you wear and the food you eat, and all those jewels that you hang on yourself when you undress and go to the opera!”

As he spoke, angrily, he went over to the chair where Gilbert had left the satchel, seized it and threw it on the floor, as though its contents were a symbol of the money she tossed away.

There was no use replying to a man like Pell.  Lucia knew that.  He was indignant that she had seen through his treachery.  Here he was, a guest of Gilbert Jones, eating at his table day after day, pretending to be his friend, and all the while he had been planning this!  And she had seemed to be a part of it all.  What must Gilbert think of her?  What must everybody think of her?

It was Hardy who broke the tension.

“Say,” he wanted to know, “who’s this woman, and what’s she busting into this for?  We’ve had enough of petticoats around here for one day, it seems to me.”

Uncle Henry was swift to inform him.  “I’ll tell you who she is—­she’s his wife!” And he pointed to Pell.  “But she loves him!” And he pointed to Gilbert.

It was as though a bomb had exploded.  Terror came into Gilbert’s eyes, and fury into Morgan Pell’s.

“What’s that?” the latter cried, aghast.  As a madman might, he stared at Gilbert for an instant; then his gaze shot in the direction of his wife, standing so calm at the other side of the table.

Young Jones almost made up his mind, in that blinding moment, to choke Uncle Henry once for all, and have it done with.  This was the last stroke, the final straw.  He could stand it no longer.  He stalked over to his uncle, and really intended to lay violent hands on him; but of course he could not.  That defenseless old man, that pathetic figure seemed to wilt before his piercing eyes, seemed to shrivel and literally fall to pieces.  In hot disgust, Gilbert could only cry out: 

“How dare you!  How dare you, I say!  This is the crowning interference!” He had put his hands behind his back and braced his shoulders, fearing that he would not be responsibile for what he did.

Uncle Henry, seeing that he was safe, came back to the fray.

“Well, you couldn’t marry her,” indicating Lucia, “an’ you wouldn’t marry her,” pointing to Angela.  “I guess I got some right to protect myself, ain’t I?”

“Protect yourself!” repeated Gilbert, cynicism in his tone.  He turned his back on them all and moved to the window.  His very shoulders revealed the mental struggle he was going through.