“As for his loving you still, that is doubtful. He believes you false to him, and your cunning rival will perchance catch his heart on the rebound.”
“Rival? I have no rival!” she panted, wildly.
“Do you forget your cousin, beautiful Amber Laurens?”
“My cousin Amber, my best friend—you are mad!”
Harold Castello laughed again harshly, significantly.
“Ah, Violet, what an innocent baby you are! Can you dream that an angry, jealous rival can be turned into a friend?”
Something came into her throat, and seemed to choke her like a murderous hand.
“Do you not remember,” he continued, “that Amber once loved Cecil Grant, and was angry because you won him? She only duped you when she pretended forgiveness. All the while she was working against you. It was Amber who helped her grandfather in his pet scheme of making you my bride. It was her revenge.”
“Revenge?” echoed Violet’s pale, writhing lips.
“Yes, she wanted you out of the way, that she might have another chance with Cecil. She has told him you were false, that you married me willingly, out of resentment at his delay—the delay that she planned so cunningly.”