And yet, with this too, he gives her
silently to understand that, if she shows any treachery toward him, he
will not leave it unrewarded.
Cowed, frightened, trembling at what she knows not, Dora staggers
backward, and, laying a hand upon the wall beside her, tries to regain
her self-possession. The others are all talking together, she is
therefore unobserved. She stands, still panting and pallid, trying
to collect her thoughts.
Only one thing comes clearly to her, filling her with loathing of
herself and an unnamed dread--it is that, by her own double-dealing and
falseness toward Florence, she has seemed to enter into a compact with
this man to be a companion in whatever crime he may decide upon. His
very look seems to implicate her, to drag her down with him to his
level. She feels herself chained to him--his partner in a vile
conspiracy. And what further adds to the horror of the situation is the
knowledge that she knows herself to be blindly ignorant of whatever
plans he may be forming.
After a few seconds she rouses herself, and wins back some degree of
composure. It is of course a mere weakness to believe herself in the
power of Arthur Dynecourt, she tries to convince herself. He is no more
than any other ordinary acquaintance. If indeed she has helped him a
little in his efforts to secure the love of Florence, there was no great
harm in that, though of course it served her own purpose also.
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