She turned slowly towards him.
“Need you ask! I hate that American girl. She is always there. She monopolizes everything. I wish to Heaven that she would go away.”
Reist came a little closer. His voice dropped.
“Has he spoken?”
“You know that he has not.”
The face of the man was stern and grey—even as the face of one musing upon evil things.
“To-night,” he said, “I gave him every opportunity. By all ancient laws and customs he is your betrothed—and he knows it. Yet he persists in this uncompromising silence. The difficulty remains only with himself.”
She drew nearer to him.
“It is an insult to our house,” she murmured. “I am glad that you have spoken to me of this, Nicholas. It is unbearable!”
“You are right,” he admitted. “You have been patient, Marie, and so have I. The time has come to end it.”