THE LOVE OF MONSIEUR
mouth, every dainty frock you put upon your back, every slipper, every glove, every ring and spangle that you wear, is mine—all mine.”
She shrank back with horror at the thought, and Ferrers broke in with an illy suppressed oath:
“One moment, sirrah!” he cried. “If the play-acting’s done, I’d have a word with you. Will you permit Mistress Clerke to withdraw?”
Mornay took his hand from the knob of the door and turned, while a gleam of satisfaction crossed his features. In that look Mistress Barbara read a sinister intention. She thrust herself before Captain Ferrers.
“No! No!” she cried. “You shall not! There shall be no more—no more blood-shedding, Captain Ferrers! Let the man go. Let him go, I tell you! Let him go! As you love me, let him go!”
Captain Ferrers disengaged her arms from about his shoulders, while Mornay watched them, half amused, half satirical.
“Fear nothing for him, madame,” he interrupted, dryly. “There will be no fight with
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