"I mean it was my own money."

She had not taken her eyes from his, which met
hers straightly and angrily; and at this she leaned
forward, gazing at him with profound scrutiny.

"Why did you send it?" she asked.

"Charity," he answered, after palpable hesitation.

Her eyes widened and she leaned back against
the lintel of the door, staring at him incredulously.
"Charity!" she echoed, in a whisper.

Perhaps he mistook her amazement at his
performance for dismay caused by the sense of her
own position, for, as she seemed to weaken before
him, the strength of his own habit of dominance
came back to him. "Charity, madam!" he broke
out, shouting intolerably. "Charity, d'ye hear?
I was a friend of the man that made the money you
and your grandfather squandered; I was a friend
of Jonas Tabor, I say! That's why I was willing
to support you for a year and over, rather than let
a niece of his suffer."

"`Suffer'!" she cried. "`Support'! You sent
me a hundred thousand francs!"