Then pushing her from him, he opened that same drawer in the
French cabinet that Undershaw had once seen him open, fumbled a little,
and took out something that glittered.
"Take that. But if you come here again it will be the worse for you, and
for your mother. When I say a thing I mean it. Now, go! Dixon shall take
you to the train."
Felicia glanced at the Renaissance jewel in her hand--delicate Venus in
gold and pearl, set in a hoop of diamonds. "I won't have it!" she said,
dashing it from her with a sob of passion. "And we won't take your money
either--not a farthing! We've got friends who'll help us. And I'll keep
my mother myself. You shan't give her anything--nor my grandfather. So
you needn't threaten us! You can't do us any harm!"
She looked him scornfully over from head to foot, a little fury, with
blazing eyes.
Melrose laughed.
"I thought you came to get a _dot_ out of me," he said, with lifted
brows, admiring her in spite of himself. "You seem to have a good spice
of the Melrose temper in you. I'm sorry I can't treat you as you seem to
wish. Your mother settled that. Well--that'll do--that'll do! We can't
bandy words any more. Dixon!"
He touched the hand-bell beside him.
Felicia hurried to the door, sobbing with excitement. As she reached it
Dixon entered. Melrose spoke a few peremptory words to him, and she found
herself walking through the gallery, Dixon's hand on her arm, while he
muttered and lamented beside her.
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