"She is my wife!" returns he gloomily. "I shall remember that—always!"
"Ah! she will make you remember it," cries Marian, with a queer laugh. "I warn you of that!"
"You warn me!"
"Yes—yes." She throws out her arms in the moonlight, and laughs again, with a great but cruel delight. "You will see. You don't care for her, she doesn't care for you, and you will see——"
"Marian, take care! I can hear nothing said against my wife, even by you."
"You prefer to hear it, then, from others?" says Mrs. Bethune, leaning back against the railings that overlook the gardens beneath, with a strange smile upon her lips.
"I prefer to believe that there is nothing to hear"—haughtily.
"You can prefer what you like," says she, with a sudden burst of rage; "but hear you shall!"
She takes a step nearer him.
"I shall not," says Rylton firmly, if gently. "She is my wife. I have made her that! I shall remember it."