For a moment Marion could hardly believe her ears; then a great feeling of pity for Miss Allyn swept through her every fibre.
Almost involuntarily she glanced toward the kitchen door, but it was tightly closed, so she breathed a little more freely.
“Miss Marlowe—Marion,” cried Mr. Colebrook, suddenly, “have you no eyes to see how much I admire you? Why, I’ve been crazy with admiration ever since I met you. You are as beautiful as a saint, and I am desperately in love with you.”
Poor Marion’s breath came with a little gasp now. It was almost impossible for a girl with her honest nature to grasp such a situation. Here was her best friend’s betrothed husband actually making love to her. He had the open assurance to tell her that he loved her.
As she stood almost paralyzed by her emotions, he seized her hand in both his own, and before she could stop him he had kissed it fervently.
Suddenly one word issued from the pale girl’s lips.
“Traitor!”
She hissed it out slowly, her tone tense and vibrating.
The fellow drew back as if he had been stung.
The next instant Alma Allyn opened the kitchen door and stepped calmly between them.