"I said the country, Miss Genevieve, dearie."
"Nannie--Nannie--;" her eyes were staring straight before her. "I--want--to--go!"
"But he wouldn't let me. He laughed at me. Nannie, he laughed."
"Will Nannie stop with you a bit, Miss Genevieve, dearie?"
"You said;" Genevieve Evans' lifeless, monotonous voice went on; "you said you wouldn't blame me for being angry. I get very angry, Nannie. Very angry. It brings all kinds of things to me when I get angry. His kind of things. Rotten things. And he's going to take her into the country; where everything's clean; and he won't let me--go. God!"
"Yes, Miss Genevieve. He'll be wanting to know where I am."
"Go, Nannie!" She half rose from her chair. The door closed quietly behind the woman. "Go!" Genevieve Evans whispered. "He's going--into the country--; he's taking that woman. He wouldn't let me. He wants to keep me here. Just to feel his power--; his filthy power. He's not the only one." She was muttering now. "He's not the only one who can do things. Rotten--dirty things! His kind of things!"
She swayed to her feet. Her steps were short and uncertain. Her whole body reeled. Her face was blanched; drained of all color. Her fingers trembled wide spread at her sides. She was quivering from head to foot.
Only her eyes were steady; her eyes wide and dilated that were riveted on the portrait hanging there above the wood carved mantel.
She backed toward the door, her eyes glued to the picture.
Her shaking fingers, fumbling behind her, found the key and turned it.
Feeling her way with her hands, her distended eyes still fixed on that one thing, she got to the center table.
It took her a while to pull open the drawer.
Her breath came raspingly; as if she had been running.
The old Venetian dagger with the cracked jeweled handle was between her fingers.
Very slowly now she went toward the fireplace.
The electric light flared over the colored gems that studded the handle of the dagger, giving out small quick rays of blue and red and green.
"I'm angry;" she whispered hoarsely. "I--I'm very angry--with--you. You've no right--; no right--to--ruin--my--life--and laugh! You did--laugh--at--me!"
Her eyes stared up at the full, red face with the hard lines in it. Up at the thick, sensual lips. Up at the cunning eyes. At the ponderous, heavy-set figure. The powerful hands.