“You do, sir!” interrupted his sister defiantly.
“Nonsense because Clancarty does not want you.” He continued, with a provoking drawl, “Where is your husband, my lady? Forsooth you do not know—but I do! At Saint Germain and at Paris; a gambler, a rake, a cutpurse, with half a dozen lady-loves to—”
“Silence!” cried Lady Betty furiously, rising in her indignation. “Shame on you, sir, to insult a woman and she your sister, and to blacken a gallant gentleman behind his back. Is that your virtue? Faith, I believe a witty rogue would be a happier companion than a virtuous bore!”
“Your tongue will cut your throat yet, madam,” said Spencer harshly; “you have worked yourself into this passion; you have never seen your husband since childhood, and you do not know him. It is my duty as your brother, a painful duty, I admit,” he said pompously, “to tell you the truth. Lord Clancarty is a notorious scamp, a dissolute fellow, a murderer and oppressor; and, as for you, what does he care for you? You little fool, he has never sought you—and never will!” and with this taunt my lord turned on his heel and walked decorously but swiftly away, wise enough to fly before his sister could retaliate.
Lady Betty stood as he had left her for a moment, her little hands clenched and her face crimson.
“The mean hypocrite!” she cried, “to fling it in my teeth. I vow I sometimes almost hate Spencer—and yet he is my brother. I’m a beast, Alice, a wretch! but oh!” and suddenly her mood changed; she threw herself on the garden-seat, trembling with emotion, tears on her dark lashes. “Oh, why must I be so cruelly insulted? ’Tis true, Alice, ’tis true; Clancarty has never even cared to claim his wife! Think of it, I—I—Betty Spencer, scorned by an Irish Jacobite!” and she burst into tears.
“My lady,” purred a smooth voice, as the other attendant suddenly and softly stepped into view, from the friendly shadow of an elm; “be consoled, ’tis even as Lord Spencer—”
“Go!” cried the countess furiously, dashing away her tears and stamping her foot at Melissa. “Go! What do I want of your consolation, you eavesdropper!”
“My lady, I beg pardon,” stammered the confused waiting-woman, “I—”
“Go!” repeated the countess imperiously, with a gesture of disdain. “When I want you, I will summon you.”