"No, I could never do that," is the quiet response.
"Except on the one great occasion," and there is a half-laugh, half-sneer.
"When was that?" asks Violet.
"Marcia!" says Gertrude, half rising.
"Why shouldn't she be proud of her victory? Any woman would. All women are delighted to catch husbands! I dare say Madame Lepelletier would have enjoyed being Mrs. Floyd Grandon."
"Marcia, do not make such an idiot of yourself!"
A sudden horrible fear rushes over Violet. "You do not mean," she says, "that Mr. Grandon——" What is it she shall ask? Was there some broken engagement? They came from Europe together.
"She does not mean anything——" begins Gertrude; but Marcia interrupts, snappishly,—
"I do mean something, too, if you please, Miss Grandon," with a bitter emphasis on the Miss. "And I think turn about fair play. She jilted Floyd and he jilted her, it amounts to just that, and for once Violet came off best, though I doubt——"
Violet is very white now, and her eyes look like points of clear flame, not anger. Something has fallen on her with crushing weight, but she still lives.