“The man you loved?” said Marie, turning very pale.
“Yes, the man I loved—Marcus Glen. He loved me, and you knew it, and hung back always, with your soft, cat-like ways, trying to win him from me.”
“It is not true,” cried Marie.
“Yes, it is, and you know it is true. That’s why you refused Lord Henry at first, so that you might win Marcus, as you thought. Do you think I was blind?”
“Clotilde,” said Marie, “this is terrible to me! Did you ask me here to-night to insult me?”
“Not I, my dear, only to congratulate you on being such a good, dutiful girl, and obeying our sweetly-affectionate, care-taking, washed-out old aunts. It is so pleasant to see you like I am, and well out in society. I meant that you should be, and so you are. Why, you are ever so much better off than I am—Lady Henry Moorpark. I ought to rise and make obeisance to you, but I am too lazy. But to set aside joking, you ought to be highly grateful, and kiss me for what I have done.”
“I do not understand you,” said Marie, unconsciously playing with her wedding-ring.
“Why, I brought you to your senses, silly child!”
“Brought me to my senses!” exclaimed Marie, fighting down an intense desire to rise and leave the room.
“To be sure, my dear; I have quite taken to dear aunts’ worldly ideas of what is right for girls to do. You know I did my duty, as they laid it out for me; and then, when I saw my silly sister hang back and spend her time in making eyes at the penniless officer I could not afford to marry, I said. ‘This will not do. I love dear Marie too well to let her make a fool of herself. She shall marry Lord Henry Moorpark, or I’ll know the reason why.’”