"You've gone a long way already, ma'am," giggled Marcelle.
"Please don't call me ma'am. It—it irritates me."
"Sorry, miladi, but you will admit, at least, a marriage being necessary, that you were fortunate in finding Mr. Curtis?"
"Yes, doubly fortunate—it is that fact which makes things hard for me."
"Makes what things hard, your ladyship?"
"Oh, I don't know. I scarce recognize my own voice. Marcelle, if I seem distraught and unreasonable, promise me you will pay no heed. For pity's sake, don't leave me!"
Hermione's eyes filled with tears, and Marcelle was on the verge of hysteria.
"I—can't imagine—what there is—to cry about," she murmured brokenly. "Nothing on earth would induce me to go away now—but I do hope—and pray—you will be happy—even though—you only met your husband—little more than an hour ago!… And I believe in my heart, Lady Hermione, that you will soon see how fortunate you were in escaping that mincing little Frenchman——"
"Marcelle, the poor man is dead."
"Then it is the best turn he has done you, miladi. I never fancied him. There was something underhanded and mean about him. I have seen his face when you were not looking, and I'm sure he was a hypocrite."