Her thoughts were cut short. Again her aunt was speaking. But now her voice had once more resumed its customary harshness. The fire had died out of her eyes. Again the dreaded crystal was lying in her lap, fondled by loving fingers. And something approaching a chuckle of malice was underlying the words which flowed so rapidly from her thin lips.
"Haven't you learned yet? Can't you read what the hand of Fate is trying to point out to your blinded eyes? Did not the man Cahusac ask you to marry him? Did not you refuse him? And did not he die of typhoid within two weeks of committing that foolishness? And Charlie Hemming. He dared to make love to you. What then? Didn't he make a fortune on the Cotton Exchange? Didn't he tell you that it was you who brought him his luck? Luck? Your luck is disaster--disaster disguised. What happened? Hemming plunged into an orgie of riotous living when you refused him. Didn't he squander his fortune, bolt to Mexico, and in twelve months didn't he get shot as a rebel and a renegade, and thus add himself to the list of the victims of your--so-called 'luck'? Luck! Oh, the madness, the blindness of it!"
The woman's passionate bitterness had lost all sense of proportion. She saw only through her straining nerves. And the injustice of it all brought swift protest to Joan's lips.
"You are wrong. You are cruel--bitterly, wickedly cruel, auntie," she cried. "How am I responsible? What have I done?"
In an instant the gray eyes were turned upon her with something akin to ferocity, and her voice rang with passion.
"Wrong? Cruel? I am stating undeniable facts. I am telling you what has happened. And now I am going to tell you the result of your morning's ride. How are you responsible? What have you done? Dick Sorley has gone to his fate as surely as though you had thrust a knife through his heart."
"How dare I say such things? Because I am telling you the truth--which you cannot bear to face. You must and shall hear it. Who are you to escape the miseries of life such as we all have to suffer? Such as you have helped to make _me_ suffer."
"Don't--don't!" Joan covered her face with her hands, as though to shut out the sight of that cruel, working face before her--as though to shut out of her mind the ruthless accusation hurled at her.