She still looked straight at him,--her bosom rose and fell rapidly with her passionate breath, and there was such an eloquent breath of scorn in her face that he winced under it as though struck by a sharp scourge.
"You are not worth my anger!" she said slowly, this time without a tremor in her rich voice. "One must have something to be angry with, and you--you are nothing! Neither man nor beast,--for men are brave, and beasts tell no lies! Your wife! I!" and she laughed aloud,--then with a gesture of command, "Go!" she exclaimed, "and never let me see your face again!"
The clear scornful laughter,--the air of absolute authority with which she spoke,--would have stung the most self-opinionated of men, even though his conscience were enveloped in a moral leather casing of hypocrisy and arrogance. And, notwithstanding his invariable air of mildness, Mr. Dyceworthy had a temper. That temper rose to a white heat just now,--every drop of blood receded from his countenance,--and his soft hands clenched themselves in a particularly ugly and threatening manner. Yet he managed to preserve his suave composure.
"Alas, alas!" he murmured. "How sorely my soul is afflicted to see you thus, Fröken! I am amazed--I am distressed! Such language from your lips! oh fie, fie! And has it come to this! And must I resign the hope I had of saving your poor soul? and must I withdraw my spiritual protection from you?" This he asked with a suggestive sneer of his prim mouth,--and then continued, "I must--alas, I must! My conscience will not permit me to do more than pray for you! And as is my duty, I shall, in a spirit of forbearance and charity, speak warningly to Sir Philip concerning--"
But Thelma did not permit him to finish his sentence. She sprang forward like a young leopardess, and with a magnificent outward sweep of her arm motioned him down the garden path.
"Out of my sight,--coward!" she cried, and then stood waiting for him to obey her, her whole frame vibrating with indignation like a harp struck too roughly. She looked so terribly beautiful, and there was such a suggestive power in that extended bare white arm of hers, that the minister, though quaking from head to heel with disappointment and resentment, judged it prudent to leave her.
"Certainly, I will take my departure, Fröken!" he said meekly, while his teeth glimmered wolfishly through his pale lips, in a snarl more than a smile. "It is best you should be alone to recover yourself--from this--this undue excitement! I shall not repeat my--my--offer; but I am sure your good sense will--in time--show you how very unjust and hasty you have been in this matter--and--and you will be sorry! Yes, indeed! I am quite sure you will be sorry! I wish you good day, Fröken Thelma!"