"True—true; and of course I am wrong. No doubt I imagined it all. But, even if it should be so," laughing and patting his arm softly, "who need wonder? Your wife is so pretty—those little things often are pretty—and he is her cousin—they grew up together, in a sense."
"No, I think not."
"At all events, they were much together when she was growing from child to girl. And old associations—they——" She stops as if some dart has struck her. Rylton looks at her.
"Are you ill?" says he sharply. "You look pale."
"Nothing, nothing." She recovers herself and smiles at him, but her face is still white. "A thought, a mere thought—it cannot be only Tita and her cousin who have old associations, who have—memories."
Her eyes are full of tears. She leans toward him. This time her lips do touch him—softly her lips touch his cheek. The curtains hide them.
"Have you no memories?" says she.
"Marian! This is madness," says Rylton, turning suddenly to her. In a sense, though without a gesture, he repulses her. She looks back at him; rage is in her heart at first, but, seeing him as he is, rage gives place to triumph. He is actually livid. She has moved him, then. She still has power over him. Oh for time, time only! And he will be hers again, soul and body, and that small supplanter shall be lowered to the very dust!
* * * * *
"Oh, how delightful! The very thing," says Mrs. Chichester, clapping her hands.