She flashed him an angry look, and answered:
“I am no worse than you, Otho. Remember what a fate you plotted for the girl! She is better off as it is, for death is better than dishonor.”
“A fine sentiment,” he gibed, wondering if she thought herself quite honorable, as she had connived at the plot.
She read his thought, and tossed her head defiantly, thinking how glad she was that Floy was out of her way, by whatever means.
Otho sighed, and said:
“If you are going back to Mount Vernon to-morrow, perhaps you will break the news to Mrs. Banks? Poor soul!”
“No, I shall not go so soon. Besides, we need not hurry. Better wait till all is over. If she found out before Floy died, she would want to come down here and see her, and mamma could not really spare her now. She is busy with the summer sewing,” Maybelle answered, heartlessly.
“I must be going,” he said, with a tortured sigh, remorse heavy at his heart.
“No, stay, and go with us to the matinée to see ‘Trilby.’ Mrs. Vere de Vere has invited a little box party—the Van Dorns and the Beresfords. Join us, and you may get in a word with Alva Beresford.”
“Hang Alva Beresford!” he replied, with the impatience of pain.