“I do not understand you, Cecilia. Please to remember that you are speaking of my husband.”
Mrs. Bellamy laughed again.
“I am in no danger of forgetting, my dear. Please do not trouble yourself to put on such old-fashioned airs with me; as if every one did not know your secret by this time.”
Monica turned upon her with flashing eyes.
“What secret?”
“The secret of your unhappy marriage, my love. It was obviously a mariage de convenance from the first, and you take no pains to disguise the fact that it will never be anything else. As Randolph Trevlyn is rather a fascinating man, there is only one rational interpretation to be put upon your persistent indifference.”
Monica stood as if turned to stone.
“What?”
“Why, that your heart was given away before he appeared on the scene. People like little pathetic romances, and there is something in the style of your beauty, my dear, that makes you an object of interest wherever you go. You are universally credited with a ‘history’ and a slowly breaking heart—an equally heart-broken lover in the background. You can’t think how interested we all are in you—and——”