Celine was a little startled at the effect of her wickedness. She brought some eau de cologne, and tried to bathe the face of her mistress but was quickly motioned away.
"Go, Celine, send that girl here to me," she said, speaking in a dry, hard, unnatural voice.
The maid went out, and Mrs. Desmond waited but a moment before the door unclasped and little Golden entered. She paused in the middle of the room, and said in her gentle voice:
"You sent for me, Mrs. Desmond?"
Mrs. Desmond lifted her eyes and looked at the beautiful girl whom she believed to be the wicked destroyer of her happiness. Golden shrank before the withering scorn of that look.
"Oh, madam, is anything the matter?" she faltered.
Mrs. Desmond rose and towered above her in all the dignity of her insulted wifehood.
"Oh, no," she said, in a low, deep voice of concentrated passion, "there is very little the matter—only this trifle. You have shamelessly robbed me of my husband."
"Madam!" cried Golden, in alarm and consternation.