“But the carriage, my darling? It will not be here till after ten.”
“Let me walk. Take a cab. Anything; only get me away from this house,” she whispered imploringly; and there was that in her face which made Lord Henry send at once for a cab; and it was not until they were in it, and on their way to their house in Saint James’s, that Marie seemed as if she could breathe.
She had thrown herself into his arms as soon as they were in the cab, excitedly bidding him tell her that he trusted her, that she was his own wife, and ended by such a hysterical burst that he grew alarmed, and was about to bid the driver stop at the first doctors, when she seemed to divine that which he intended to do, and gradually grew calmer.
Hereupon he was about to question her, but at his first words the symptoms from which she suffered seemed ready to recur, so he contented himself with holding her hands in his, while she lay back with her head upon his shoulder, every now and then uttering a piteous moan.
The ladies had ascended to the drawing-room that evening, and as soon as they were seated alone there, Marie felt that she had made a mistake in coming.
The memory of the evening of the “at home” came back very vividly, try how she would to drive it away, and whenever she glanced furtively at Clotilde, she seemed to be gazing not at her sister, but at the woman who had done her a deadly injury.
She fought against this feeling, but it seemed to strengthen, especially as Clotilde kept smiling in a triumphant way—so it seemed to her; and Marie shivered as she felt that she was beginning to hate this sister of hers.
It only wanted Clotilde’s confession to seal the growing feud, and make Marie’s dislike grow into hate indeed.
“How little we see of each other now, love!” began Clotilde. “I thought, dear, that when we were married we should be inseparable. Is it my fault?”