"Sorry," she says. "Sorry! Why should you be? Your fortune is built on the wreck of mine."
"Oh, Maud, do not say so," the girl cries, deeply pained. "Indeed, indeed, I do not want the money. I will ask Uncle Langton to give it all to you. I have Vane, I care for nothing else."
"You love him?" Maud says, with lifted brows, slightly incredulous.
"Yes," with a deep, beautiful blush.
"You cannot suppose that he cares for you," Maud says, with subdued contempt.
"Not yet—not as he cared for you, of course, Maud. But I hope to win him after awhile. You know," hopefully, "he must have thought he could learn to care for me, else he would not have married me."
"What a little simpleton you are," Maud says, disdainfully. "Ring the bell for my maid, please."
The maid comes, her eyes red with weeping. She has been mourning over the troubles of her late mistress, and now, with dejected brow, stands waiting.
"Nellie, you remember the note you brought me from Mr. Clyde yesterday?"
"Yes, miss, an' if I'd known what trouble it would bring, I'd never have carried the first note back and forth," says Nellie, with vain lamentation.