He looked at her with an ironical affectation of surprise.
"You are strangely forgetful to-day," he said. "Surely your friend Mr.
Julian Gray might have told you? I am astonished to hear that he has not
had his private interview yet."
"I don't understand you, Horace."
"I don't want you to understand me," he retorted, irritably. "The proper
person to understand me is Julian Gray. I look to _him_ to account to
me for the confidential relations which seem to have been established
between you behind my back. He has avoided me thus far, but I shall find
my way to him yet."
His manner threatened more than his words expressed. In Mercy's nervous
condition at the moment, it suggested to her that he might attempt to
fasten a quarrel on Julian Gray.
"You are entirely mistaken," she said, warmly. "You are ungratefully
doubting your best and truest friend. I say nothing of myself. You will
soon discover why I patiently submit to suspicions which other women
would resent as an insult."
"Let me discover it at once. Now! Without wasting a moment more!"
There had hitherto been some little distance between them. Mercy had
listened, waiting on the threshold of her door; Horace had spoken,
standing against the opposite wall of the corridor. When he said his
last words he suddenly stepped forward, and (with something imperative
in the gesture) laid his hand on her arm. The strong grasp of it almost
hurt her. She struggled to release herself.
"Let me go!" she said. "What do you mean?"
He dropped her arm as suddenly as he had taken it.
"You shall know what I mean," he replied. "A woman who has grossly
outraged and insulted you--whose only excuse is that she is mad--is
detained in the house at your desire, I might almost say at your
command, when the police officer is waiting to take her away. I have a
right to know what this means. I am engaged to marry you. If you won't
trust other people, you are bound to explain yourself to Me. I refuse
to wait for Lady Janet's convenience. I insist (if you force me to say
so)--I insist on knowing the real nature of your connection with
this affair. You have obliged me to follow you here; it is my only
opportunity of speaking to you. You avoid me; you shut yourself up
from me in your own room. I am not your husband yet--I have no right to
follow you in. But there are other rooms open to us. The library is at
our disposal, and I will take care that we are not interrupted. I am now
going there, and I have a last question to ask. You are to be my wife in
a week's time: will you take me into your confidence or not?"