"You take a wrong reading of it, perhaps," says Mrs. Bethune, who is now, in spite of all her efforts to be emotionless, a little pale. "She is simply so indifferent to Maurice, that she does not care whom he likes or dislikes—with whom he spends—or wastes his time. Or with whom he——"
"Flirts?" puts in Lady Rylton, lifting her brows; there is most insolent meaning in her tone.
For the first time Mrs. Bethune loses herself; she turns upon her aunt, her eyes flashing.
"Maurice does not flirt with me," says she.
It seems horrible—horrible, that thought. Maurice—his love—it surely is hers! And to talk of it as a mere flirtation! Oh no! Her very soul seems to sink within her.
"My good child, who was speaking of you?" says Lady Rylton, with a burst of amusement. "You should control yourself, my dear Marian. To give yourself away like that is to suffer defeat at any moment. One would think you were a girl in your first season, instead of being a mature married woman. Well, and if not with you, with whom does Maurice flirt?"
"With no one." Marian has so far commanded herself as to be able now to speak collectedly. "If you will keep to the word 'flirtation,' you must think of Tita, though perhaps 'flirtation' is too mild a word to——"
"Tita!"
Tita's mother-in-law grows immediately interested.
"Yes, Tita. What I was going to say when you interrupted me was, that she refuses to take me into consideration—or anyone else for the matter of that—because——"