“It is false,” cried Marie excitedly. “I threw him over for his reckless conduct with you.”
“You threw him over because I made you, my dear,” said Clotilde contemptuously. “Do you think, Rie, I was going to sit still here as Elbraham’s wife, and see you marry Marcus! No, my dear, that I would not do.”
Marie was like stone now, and she remained motionless, while Clotilde lay back in her lounge and continued her shameless avowals.
“I wanted to spite you a little, darling, in a kindly sort of way, and I could not have behaved better to you than to help you do your duty to our dear aunts and win a rich husband and a title.”
“Is this talk for some purpose?” said Marie at last, angrily.
“Yes, my dear, of course it is; but you must be very smooth-faced and quiet now, and not let the gentlemen see that we have been talking about our old beaux. But seriously, Rie, you never thought I should sit down quietly and let you carry off Marcus Glen?”
Marie began to tremble, for a horrible suspicion had assailed her, one which moment by moment grew more strong; while, seeing the effect of her words, Clotilde went on with malicious glee:
“It would not do at any cost, my dear, so I carried off poor stupid Marcus that night.”
“This was your doing, Clotilde,” said Marie at last, panting as if for breath.
“To be sure it was. Poor old fellow! He behaved very nicely by holding his tongue and taking all the blame, when he was as innocent as a lamb.”