Then
he said gravely, "I think you know everything."
"Then if my husband has left me all he could--this property," she went
on rapidly, twisting her handkerchief between her fingers, "I can do
with it what I like, can't I?"
"You certainly can."
"Then sell it," she said, with passionate vehemence. "Sell it--all!
everything! And sell these." She darted into her bedroom, and returned
with the diamond rings she had torn from her fingers and ears when she
entered the house. "Sell them for anything they'll bring, only sell them
at once."
"But for what?" asked Poindexter, with demure lips but twinkling eyes.
"To pay the debts that this--this--woman has led him into; to return the
money she has stolen!" she went on rapidly, "to keep him from sharing
her infamy! Can't you understand?"
"But, my dear madam," began Poindexter, "even if this could be done--"
"Don't tell me 'if it could'--it MUST be done. Do you think I could
sleep under this roof, propped up by the timbers of that ruined tienda?
Do you think I could wear those diamonds again, while that termagant
shop-woman can say that her money bought them? No.
Pages:
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148