"It is a lie."
"Oh, protest. I knew you would."
"From whom is it you heard this thing? Not from your father, I am sure." As Mistrial spoke he gazed at her inquisitorially with shrewd, perplexing eyes.
"What does it matter?" she answered. Her head was thrown back, her lips compressed. "What does it matter since the charge is true?"
"But it is false," he cried; "it is a wanton lie. Your father never could have stated it."
"Ah, but he did, though; and Guy was there to substantiate what he said."
"Guy!" As he pronounced her cousin's name there came into his face an expression which she knew and which she had learned to dread. "Madam, you mean your lover, I suppose. And it is his ipse dixit you accept in preference to mine?"
"Mistrial, you know he is not my lover."
"I know he was in love with you, and you with him."
"So he was; so he is, I think; and it was not until this night I saw my own mistake."