“You are talking folly,” said Marie huskily.
“Perhaps so, Rie; but you did not marry my Marcus, and you did marry Lord Henry. Yes, that’s the golden link of your slavery, sweet sister,” she said as she saw Marie touch her wedding-ring; “but how dutiful you must feel! Haven’t seen Marcus lately, have you?”
Marie made no reply.
“You don’t believe me,” continued Clotilde maliciously. “It was very funny how it all turned out. Do you remember the night of our party?”
Did she remember it! The recollection was burned into her brain.
“Poor Marcus!” continued Clotilde, “he is a great goose of a fellow. How astonished he looked!”
Marie was white and red by turns, and the place seemed to swim round before her; but she fought hard to hide her feelings from her sister’s malicious eyes.
“I must do him the justice to say that he behaved very well on the whole.”
“Clotilde, you must be mad,” said Marie hoarsely. “If you were in your right senses, you would not speak like this.”
“Oh yes, I would, my dear,” laughed Clotilde. “I am no more mad than you are; but I was determined that you should never marry Marcus Glen, and I kept you apart.”