"Has Anne come in yet?"
She answered him quite as bluntly, almost as if she had wished for his
curt interrogation. "No."
He raised his brows for an instant, then in part reassured by her
absolute composure, he merely commented: "She is late."
Mona said nothing. She turned her quiet eyes to the blaze before her.
There was not the faintest sign of agitation in her bearing.
"Do you know what she is doing?" He asked the question slowly, half
reluctantly it seemed.
Again she looked at him. Clear and contemptuous, her eyes met his.
"Yes, I know."
The words, the look, stabbed him with a swift suspicion. He bent towards
her, his hand gripped her wrist.
"What do you mean? Where is she?"
She made no movement to avoid him. A faint, grim smile hovered about her
calm mouth.
"I can tell you what I mean," she said quietly. "I cannot tell you where
she is."
"Then tell me what you mean," he said between his teeth.
His face was close to hers, and in that moment it was terrible. But Mona
did not flinch. The small, bitter smile passed, that was all.
"I mean," she said, speaking very steadily and distinctly, "that you
will go back to South Africa without her after all. I mean that by your
hateful and contemptible brutality you have driven her from you for ever.
I mean that you have forced her into taking a step that will compel you
to set her free from your tyranny.
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