"Yes, you probably think you know men."

She lifted her upper lip a little, and showed her even teeth--it was
like an animal snarling.

"I know that they are either selfish weaklings, or cruel, hateful brutes
like Ladislaus, or clever, successful financiers like you, my uncle.
That is enough! Something we women must be always sacrificed to."

"Well, you don't know Englishmen--"

"Yes, I remember my father very well; cold and hard to my darling
mother"--and here her voice trembled a little--"he only thought of
himself, and to rush to England for sport--and leave her alone for
months and months: selfish and vile--all of them!"

"In spite of that I have found you an English husband whom you will be
good enough to take, madame," Francis Markrute announced
authoritatively.

She gave a little laugh--if anything so mirthless could be called a
laugh.

"You have no power over me; I shall do no such thing."

"I think you will," the financier said with quiet assurance, "if I know
you. There are terms, of course--"

She glanced at him sharply: the expression in those somber eyes was