"Neither of them would do such a thing," cried Lady Chandos. "Ladies of the class to which I belong do not spend whole days on the river with gentlemen unknown to their wives. Madame Vanira—you and I are strangers from this time."
"You are very hard on me," said Leone; "the day may come when you will admit that."
"The day will never come in which I will mistake good for evil, or right for wrong," said Lady Chandos. "Others may applaud you, you may continue your sway over the minds and hearts of men, but I shall protest against you, and all those like you, who would come between husbands and wives to separate them."
It was such a satire of fate, such a satire of her own life, that Leone's beautiful lips curled with a bitter smile. It was she who had been parted from her husband by a quibble of the law, and this fair, angry woman had taken him for herself.
Lady Chandos saw the smile and misunderstood it. She bowed, and would have passed, but Leone tried to stop her.
"Will you not say one kind word to me before you go, Lady Chandos?" she asked.
"I have not one kind word to say," was the brief reply.
She would have passed on, but fate again intervened in the person of Lord Chandos, who was walking with his hostess, the Countess of Easton. They stopped before the two ladies, and Lord Chandos saw at once that something was wrong. Madame Vanira, after exchanging a few words with the countess, went away, and as soon as he could, Lord Chandos rejoined his wife.
"Marion," he said, curtly, "you have had some disagreeable words with Madame Vanira. I know it by the expression of your face."
"You are right," she said; "I have told her that henceforth she and I shall be strangers."