"She loves him, does she not?" She asked the question huskily.
"Do you mean Miss Holmes? Only too well, I fear, Mrs. Laurence. As I have said, it comes easily to all of you to lose your hearts to Mr. Thorndyke."
She never heeded the savage sarcasm of his tone. A tumult of temptation was warring within her.
"And she is young and gentle, and pure and good?" she went on.
"All that and more. A beautiful and gracious lady as ever drew breath."
"And I am not his wife. And you tell me she loves and trusts him. Yes! it is easy to do that! If she casts him off she will break her own heart. She at least has never wronged me—why should her life be blighted as mine and Lucy West's have been? Mr. Liston, as much as I ever loved Laurence Thorndyke, I think I hate him to-night—" her black eyes flamed up in the dusk. "I want to be revenged upon him—I will be revenged upon him, but not that way."
"Madam, I don't know what you mean."
"I mean this, Mr. Liston—and it is of no use your growing angry—I will not stab Laurence Thorndyke through the innocent girl who loves him. I have fallen very low, but not quite low enough for that. Let her marry him—I shall not lift a finger—speak a word to prevent it. She at least has never wronged me."
"No, she has never wronged you, but do you think you can do her a greater wrong than by letting her become the wife of a heartless scoundrel and libertine? I thought better of you, Miss Bourdon. Laurence Thorndyke is to escape, then, after all?"
Her eyes flashed—literally flashed in the firelight.