She held out a small packet as she finished, and had the satisfaction of seeing Margery’s lips twitch as with sudden pain, and her whole frame shake with passion beneath the insult.
“It was his intention to write to you as far back as last Thursday,” went on Vane; “but he had the misfortune to break his right arm, and writing was impossible; therefore, as he thought you would require some explanation from him, he asked me to come.”
“I thank you,” fell from Margery’s lips, in cold, strained tones.
“Then I may leave this?” Vane said, interrogatively, rising and placing the packet on the table. “And you will promise to apply at the castle with respect to anything concerning your future? I believe, but I am not sure, that Mrs. Crosbie has already written to some lady about a situation for you as maid.”
Margery made no answer, and Miss Charteris waited a few moments, and then moved to the door, feeling strangely uncomfortable, and by no means victorious. She looked back as she stood at the door.
“You have no reply?” she asked.
“Mr. Crosbie’s explanation requires none,” Margery answered, still in the same cold, even tones.
“Then I will wish you good-afternoon.”
“Stay!” cried Margery; and Vane turned toward her. “You have forgotten your packet,” Margery added, pointing to the table.
Vane took it up without a word. Then a thought seemed to strike her, and she turned the money round and round in her hand hurriedly.