Part 40 (1/2)

”Ah! she will _make_ you remember it,” cries Marian, with a queer laugh. ”I warn you of _that!”_

”You warn me!”

”Yes--yes.” She throws out her arms in the moonlight, and laughs again, with a great but cruel delight. ”You will see. You don't care for her, she doesn't care for you, and you will see----”

”Marian, take care! I can hear nothing said against my wife, even by you.”

”You prefer to hear it, then, from others?” says Mrs. Bethune, leaning back against the railings that overlook the gardens beneath, with a strange smile upon her lips.

”I prefer to believe that there is nothing to hear”--haughtily.

”You can prefer what you like,” says she, with a sudden burst of rage; ”but hear you shall!”

She takes a step nearer him.

”I shall not,” says Rylton firmly, if gently. ”She is my wife. I have made her that! I shall remember it.”

”And she,” says Marian furiously, ”what does _she_ remember? You may forget all old ties, if you will; but she--does _she_ forget?”

”Forget what?”

Mrs. Bethune laughs softly, sweetly, wildly.

”Are you blind? Are you _mad?_ Can you see _nothing?”_ cries she, her soft, musical voice now a little harsh and strained. ”That cousin--have you seen nothing there?”

”You are alluding to Hescott?”

”Yes--to him, and--t.i.ta!”

”t.i.ta?” His brow darkens. ”What are you going to say of her?”

”What you”--deliberately--”do not dare to say, although you know it--that she is absolutely depraved!”

_”Depraved!”_

”There--stand back!” She laughs, a strange laugh. She has shaken herself free from him. ”Fancy your taking it like that!” says she.

She is laughing still, but panting; the pressure of his hands on her arms is still fresh. ”And have you not seen for yourself, then? Is it not open to all the world to see? Is no one talking but _me?_ Why, her flirtation with her cousin is common talk.”

”Depraved, you said!” He has recovered out of that first wild pa.s.sion of his, and is now gazing at her with a certain degree of composure. ”Depraved! I will not have that word used. She is young--thoughtless--foolish, if you will, but not depraved!”

”You can delude yourself just as long as you like,” returns she, shrugging her shoulders, ”but, all the same, I warn you. I----”

She stops suddenly; voices and steps, coming nearer, check her words. She draws a little away from Rylton, and, lifting her fan, waves it indolently to and fro. The voice belongs to Minnie Hescott, who, with her partner, has come out to the balcony, and now moves down the steps to the lighted gardens below. Mrs. Bethune would have been glad at the thought that Miss Hescott had not seen her; but there had been one moment when she knew the girl's eyes had penetrated through the dusk where she stood, and had known her.

Not that it mattered much. The Hescott girl was of little consequence at any time. Yet sharp, too! Perhaps, after all, she _is_ of consequence. She has gone, however--and it is a mere question whether she had seen her with Sir Maurice or not. Of course, the girl would be on her brother's side, and if the brother is really in love with that little silly fool--and if a divorce was to be thought of--the girl might make herself troublesome.

Mrs. Bethune, leaning over the railings lost in such thoughts, suddenly sees something. She raises herself, and peers more keenly into the soft light below. Yes--yes, _surely!_

But Minnie Hescott, who has gone down the steps into the garden, has seen something too--that fair, fierce face leaning over the balcony!