"Accept him, Miss Vyner," she said with a short, hollow, and hysterical laugh; "pray put him out of his misery; accept the offering of his deep reverence, for that offering is my leavings!"
Marmaduke and Violet both started as this poisoned sarcasm, issued from her lips, and their faces told her plainly she had struck deep.
"A reformed rake, you know, makes the best husband," she pursued; "so that one so inflammable as he is, will be sure to make a constant and adoring husband. You will be so happy with him! Whenever conversation grows dull, he can amuse you with narrating little episodes of his love for me, and my cruelty that will be so pleasant! you will never tire of that! Accept him: you will be sure never to repent it!"
Marmaduke could have strangled her.
Violet, seeing clearly the purpose of these horrible phrases, cut them short by saying,—
"Mr. Ashley, on some better occasion we will speak again of this; do not let the present ignoble scene continue."
She held out her hand to him. He pressed it to his lips. Mrs. Vyner nearly shrieked with mad jealousy; but suppressed the explosion of her agony; while Violet swept out of the room, disdaining to give even a passing glance at her.
Mrs. Vyner sank exhausted into a chair. Her brain was as if on fire, and her whole frame shook violently with the unutterable rage, jealousy, and hate which stormed within her heart.
Marmaduke could not in his fiercest moments have desired a more terrible retribution than that which now had fallen on the miserable woman; and he gazed upon her with a pity which astonished himself. To this he had brought her; unwittingly it is true, but he felt it was he who had moved the stone which had fallen and crushed her; and now that she lay there suffering before him, his anger had gone, and pity filled its place.
She expected him to speak; she saw his fixed gaze and endeavoured to interpret it; but he spoke not. Before she was aware of his intention, he had left the room.