"Well, I hope you will keep to all that," says Lady Rylton, who is shrewd as she is cruel, "and that you will not interfere with this marriage I have arranged for Maurice."
"Why would I interfere?"
"Because you interfere always. You can't bear to see any man love any woman but yourself."
Mrs. Bethune smiles. "A common fault. It belongs to most women. But this girl—you like her?"
"On the contrary, as I have told you, I detest her. Once Maurice has her money safely in his hands, I shall know how to deal with her. A little, ignorant, detestable child! I tell you, Marian, that the time will come when I shall pay her out for her silly insolence towards me."
"She is evidently going to have a good time if Maurice proposes to her."
"He shall propose. Why——" She breaks off suddenly. "Not another word," says she, putting up her hand. "Here is Maurice. I shall speak to him now."
"Shall I stay and help you?"
"No, thank you," says Lady Rylton, with a little knowing grimace.
Seeing it, Marian's detestation grows apace. She rises—and calmly, yet swiftly, leaves the room. Sir Maurice is only crossing the lawn now, and by running through the hall outside, and getting on to the veranda outside the dining-room window, she can see him before he enters the drawing-room.