‘What is not true?’ he inquired brusquely.
‘That—that you are tired of me, and making love to Maraquita Courtney.’
‘Of course it isn’t true; it’s a d—d lie, and the next time I meet that Norris, I’ll break every bone in his body for saying so.’
She was all penitence for having suspected his fidelity in a moment. She flung herself on her knees beside his chair, and threw one arm around his shoulders.
‘Oh, Henri! forgive me for having repeated such a slander, but it hurt me so, I couldn’t keep it to myself. But it was not Captain Norris’s fault. He only told me what he had heard in the town. He did not think, perhaps, that it was of so much consequence to me. And I know that you are very intimate at the White House; more so even than I am.’
‘Well, Mrs Courtney is very civil to me, and I can hardly refuse her hospitality, on the plea that I am engaged to be married, can I?’
‘No! No! of course not. But still—though I am sure that you are true to me,’ cried the woman, fighting against her own horrible suspicions (for why should you have asked me to marry you, unless you loved me?) still, Maraquita is very lovely, and she likes you, Henri, I am certain of that. No! don’t interrupt me! Let me say all I have to say to the end, and then perhaps I shall forget it. You see, dear, I—I am not beautiful (how I wish, for your sake, that I were), and there is nothing in me worthy of your affection, except my love! And I have seen something of men in my lifetime, and I can understand something of their temptations. Quita has been a flirt from a little child. Who should know it better than myself, who have been like a sister to her from her birth? I was only five years old when my father brought me to live at Beauregard, and Quita was not born for two years after that. I remember so well the first visit I paid to the White House to see the wonderful new baby, and how proud I was when old Jessica let me hold her in my arms—’
‘Stop!’ exclaimed De Courcelles authoritatively. ‘What has all this to do with me? I have no interest in these details about Miss Courtney’s birth.’
‘I only mentioned it to show you how well I must know Maraquita’s character. We have grown up together, Henri, and I can almost read her thoughts. She likes you more than a friend, and when I heard the rumours about you, I felt as if I could have no chance against her.’
Henri de Courcelles had risen from his seat during her last words, almost shaking off her caressing hand in his impatience, and stood beside her, white and angry.