"You have come here with
his name and his clothes, and made up to look like him, and you try to
use his voice and take his place. Who are you?"
There was a depth of scorn and anger and apprehension in that low voice
of hers that struck me dumb.
"Can you not answer?" she demanded, catching her breath with
excitement. "You are not Henry Wilton."
"Well?" I said half-inquiringly. It was not safe to advance or retreat.
"Well--! well--!" She repeated my answer, with indignation and disdain
deepening in her voice. "Is that all you have to say for yourself?"
"What should I say?" I replied quietly. "You make an assertion. Is
there anything more to be said?"
"Oh, you may laugh at me if you please, because you can hoodwink the
others."
I protested that laughter was the last thing I was thinking of at the
moment.
Then she burst out impetuously:
"Oh, if I were only a man! No; if I were a man I should be hoodwinked
like the rest. But you can not deceive me. Who are you? What are you
here for? What are you trying to do?"
She was blazing with wrath. Her tone had raised hardly an interval of
the scale, but every word that came in that smooth, low voice was heavy
with contempt and anger. It was the true daughter of the Wolf who stood
before me.
"I am afraid, Miss Knapp, you are not well tonight," I said soothingly.
"What have you done with Henry Wilton?" she asked fiercely. "Don't try
to speak with his voice. Drop your disguise.
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