"Do you doubt me?" she demanded, with as much composure as though a
secure position and a conscience quite at ease were hers. "Who are
you? In what way are you interested in my name or in my identity?"
"Why, you--you--" The visitor was for the moment stricken
speechless. But it was the speechlessness of rage--of wild and
uncontrollable fury. Then she caught her breath. "You dirty cheat,
you! You stand there and tell me you are Ida Bostwick? You've got
gall--you certainly _have_ got gall!
"I'd like to know who the devil you are? Comin' right here, wormin'
your way into a place that don't belong to you, gettin' on the soft
side of my aunt an' uncle, I s'pose, and thinkin' to grab all they
got when they die. Oh, I know _your_ kind, miss!
"But I'll show you up. I'll let 'em know what's what and who's who.
They must be precious soft to take a girl like you in and think
she's Ida Bostwick. How _dare_ you?"
She stamped her foot. She advanced upon the other threateningly. But
the girl she had accused did not retreat. The flush of outrage and
that haughty expression were still upon her countenance. She spoke
very firmly but in a voice so low that it contrasted the more
sharply with the enraged squall of her opponent.
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