“Are you sure?”
“Well, dear, he never wrote and told me he was dead, of course,” said May with a little laugh, “but he told me he had caught the fever, and he never wrote to me any more, so, of course, he died.”
“And, without knowing for certain, you married Frank Burnett?”
“Don’t talk in that way, dear. It’s just like the actress at Drury Lane, where Frank took me. You would make a fortune on the stage. What do you mean, looking at me so tragically?”
“May, prepare yourself for terrible news.”
“Oh, Claire! Is poor, dear papa dead?”
“May, Louis Gravani is alive.”
“Alive? Oh, I am so glad!” she cried, clapping her hands. “Poor, dear little Louis! How he did love me! Then he isn’t dead, after all, and I’m his wife, and not Frank’s. Oh, what fun!”
Claire caught at the back of a chair, and stood gazing wildly at her sister, utterly stunned by her childish unthinking manner.
“May—May!” she cried bitterly; “your sin is finding you out.”