Frank felt more than ever like shaking the man, but was forced to remain quiet and listen to his insolence. “Don’t talk to me of treachery!” breathed the girl, her face crimson once more. “Why, I have understood you from the first, and I knew you for just what you are—a two-faced scoundrel and a craven! You fawned at the feet of my father, tempted many times to rob him of his ill-gotten gains, yet prevented from doing so by the picture of him upon your track, gun in hand. When he died, your fears ended, and you did not hesitate to break your oath to him and rob his child. You are a scoundrel all the way through! There is not one manly streak in you!” Still she had kept her voice down, but now Frank had observed that the manner of the speakers and their earnest tones were causing curious eyes to be turned in that direction. Had the restaurant been well filled such a conversation must have been impossible without others to overhear it. Jones laughed shortly. “More of your dreams, young woman. It is useless to argue. All I want is my property, and then I will leave you to this gallant youth, of whom you have raved ever since the day he jumped into the water for you on Grand Lake. Perhaps he will marry you, as you have hoped, but I have my doubts.” It was with the greatest difficulty that Merry refrained from leaping up and knocking the wretch down at once. “If the opportunity comes,” said Frank, looking Jones in the face, “I shall make you beg the lady’s pardon for your insults.” Jones made a motion as if to snap his fingers, but refrained from doing so. “Better not try it when the opportunity comes,” he advised. “You know the occupation in which I have been engaged for some years, and it has been my habit to carry a gun or knife where it will always be easy to draw. I promise you to return your blows with bullets or cold steel.” “The threat of a coward!” said Frank. “But I am looking for the opportunity just the same. If you pull a pistol or knife on me, it will give me all the better excuse to thrash you within an inch of your life.” Now, Merriwell knew Hilda Dugan must have talked of him often. Frank also knew she had entertained wild hopes of meeting him again, and this sneering creature beside the table had betrayed that she must have sometimes told him she would never marry anybody but a youth like the Yale man. Hilda was covered with mortification, knowing full well that Merry must understand—must comprehend the secret love she had carried in her heart ever since that day on Grand Lake three years before. “Let’s go!” she entreated, beginning to tremble all over. “I am afraid I cannot stand it longer. I shall make a scene of some sort.” “And the dinner is spoiled already,” said Merry, motioning to a waiter. “We’ll go.” “And I’ll go with you!” muttered Jones. Merry paid the check, assisted Hilda to don her coat, quietly tipped the waiter who aided him into his, and turned with the girl to leave the restaurant.