Lady Lyndwood listened, baffled, incredulous; the delicate gallantry of the speech had for her no meaning. She swept aside the fine words he used for her defence. "I came to you to say I had _not_ forgotten," she said passionately. Still she did not get within the guard of either. "'Tis hardly so long ago, madam," answered the Earl, "and I dare swear that you remember very well. It makes no difference to what Marius has said, and to what I can for myself see and understand." The Countess came round the table. "I think ye seek to put me off," she cried. Rose Lyndwood straightened himself against the mantelshelf. "And you, madam," he demanded, "what do you seek to make of this matter? You speak too late. This should have come some months ago, then you had not found me deaf." And he smiled bitterly. The Countess twisted her hands together and pressed them on her bosom. She felt that she had been cheated of everything--of her youth, her freedom, her lover, her husband, even of the right to complain. "You can say that now," she answered hoarsely. "Now it is too late, as you say, too late." She loosened her hands and grasped the edge of the table. "But I think I had stood a poor chance. You wanted the money." The Earl made a little movement, and the candle-light on his pink silk shimmered. She spoke again, in a tone of rage and deliberate insult. "'Tis easy now for you to ignore me, to preach at me, for you _have_ the money--my father's money--your price." Even as the words left her lips, she knew they were what he would never forgive, and through her wrath she felt a touch of fear. Half-shrinking, she glanced at Marius. He uttered a sound under his breath, and turned his back on her, moving towards the window. "Your father's money," said Lord Lyndwood quietly, looking at her with dangerous eyes, "bought what your father most desired, and what I thought you also desired, since ye did not protest. It is a thing done with." "It is a thing but begun," she answered fiercely. "Bought! Do ye care to use that word?" The Earl's breath came hurriedly. The passion she had longed to evoke was bared now in his face and voice. "Mr. Hilton's daughter had not received my name as a gift," he said. "What should we wed for with you save our convenience?" At the scorn in his gaze she shrank. "We sink low enough when we barter with traders," continued my lord, "and when we mate with them. But it is not a degradation you can estimate, nor, by God, is there any obligation--even if your father's money had been ten times as much. You are my wife." She hated him. But she could not answer. Her lips were dry, and her limbs trembled as she caught herself back against the bookcase. Rose Lyndwood came forward, dominating the room. "This is the last time, madam, we bandy words upon this or any other subject. I do not love dissension in my house. You will remember this. I am usually obeyed."