"Oh! Vivian, I must tell some one."
In a voice that shook with emotion, she proceeded to confide to her enemy what had happened down by the brook-side, adding that her husband had discovered it in some way, and accused her of encouraging Arthur Hollis.
"Even if you had given him encouragement, no one could have blamed you," Vivian said in a soft, purring voice, "for your husband's neglect has been noticeable by every one!"
"But I did not encourage him!" cried Ida, in agony. "He was pleasant company, but I thought no more of him, even though I spent so much of my time in his society, than I did of Captain Drury, or any of the other guests beneath this roof. Oh! I do wish I were dead—I do—I do!"
In this exaggerated feeling of one ill in body and in mind, in a state of nervous tension, a true friend would have shown the unhappy Ida that her position was not so desperate and hopeless as she imagined. Matters could not, however, be carried to an extremity without an explanation.
"He bid me to remain here until he should return," sobbed Ida. "What do you suppose he means to do?"
"Do you really want my honest opinion?" asked Vivian, with a steely glitter in her blue eyes.
"Yes!" said the young wife, anxiously, fairly holding her breath in suspense.
"Well, then, my dear, if you must have it, here it is: I, who know the fierce temper of the Mallards, say to you that I think he intends to call all the guests here, to openly denounce you before them, and then turn you away from his house!"