"You were to be his wife, were you?" said Finetta slowly, with a breath between each word. "So was I!"
"You!"
The word dropped from Leslie's white lips unconsciously; it seemed to sting Finetta.
"Yes, me!" she flamed out. "Why not? You speak and you look at me as if—as if I was some monster! I'm—I'm as young and as good looking as you——."
Leslie put up her hand deprecatingly.
"Yes, yes," she murmured. "I did not mean to anger you. Go on! Oh, go on!"
"Why shouldn't he marry me as much as you!" continued Finetta. "I've known him longer than you have! I've been more to him than you have——."
Leslie shuddered.
"I'm as good as you are. Who are you? You're no more of a swell than I am! And you're poor, too, ain't you? And I'm not poor. I can earn thousands a year——." She stopped, panting.
Leslie glanced at her shrinkingly.