Marjorie gulped as the stinging words flayed her.
“Perhaps all you say is true, Mrs. DeLacy,” she admitted slowly. “I may be as you say—decidedly unattractive,—but I do know that until you came into my husband’s life, I was the only woman in it.”
“How ridiculous,” Geraldine laughed. “You mean I am the only one you happen to think you know about.”
“It is useless for me to waste words with you.” Marjorie Benton, usually so calm, so cool, so complete mistress of herself, lost all control in this crisis. She spoke bitterly. “I can never bring you to see things from my viewpoint, and I could never stoop to your level to discuss them.”
“Stop!” Geraldine commanded angrily as she hurriedly rose. “You may go a bit too far—even with me, Mrs. Benton. I came here at your request, and have submitted calmly to your insults because, in my heart, I pity you! But I refuse to allow you to presume any further. Up to now your husband has simply been my friend and counselor. But he cares for me—I know he does—and I shall act accordingly!”
Marjorie eyed her disdainfully. “So it’s threats, now!”
“Merely fair warning.” Gaining confidence in herself each moment, Geraldine DeLacy was twisting the iron.
“Then you will deliberately step in between husband and wife?”
For her, Marjorie Benton was almost pleading, but her plea was made to a woman soulless, caring only for what might best further her own interests.
“I cannot come into Hugh Benton’s life,” answered that woman, weighing each word with cruel deliberation, “unless he is willing for me to do so—therefore, I think the matter rests entirely with him, and neither you nor I have a right to discuss it.”