"I'm not dictating to you," she returned; "I'm telling you what I
want."

The answer was so cool, so rich in bravado, that somehow it took
the wind out of his sails. He could not attack her, he could not
ask her for proofs. Somehow he felt evidence, law, the
remembrance of all his property which she held in her name, to be
shining in her glance. He was like a vessel, powerful and
dangerous, but rolling and floundering without sail.

"And I'm telling you," he said in the end, slightly recovering
himself, "what you'll not get."

"We'll see about it," she said. "I'll find out what my rights
are. Perhaps you'll talk to a lawyer, if you won't to me."

It was a magnificent play, and had its effect. Hurstwood fell
back beaten. He knew now that he had more than mere bluff to
contend with. He felt that he was face to face with a dull
proposition. What to say he hardly knew. All the merriment had
gone out of the day. He was disturbed, wretched, resentful.
What should he do?
"Do as you please," he said, at last. "I'll have nothing more to
do with you," and out he strode.



Chapter XXIII

A SPIRIT IN TRAVAIL--ONE RUNG PUT BEHIND