"I have a right to nurse him; I, and I alone!" returned Beatrix, calmly. "And, besides that, I am a nurse—or, rather, an assistant here—and it would be my duty to nurse him. This is my refuge, my home."
A scornful sneer curled Serena's thin lip.
"And do not the sick people here risk contagion from such as you?" she cried.
It was a cruel question, but the hard heart of the jealous woman was capable of any cruelty to this girl who was her rival—who, no matter what Serena did, or how she planned and schemed, somehow always seemed to get ahead of her without an effort. Even now, accursed as she was, with this hideous inheritance hanging over her head like a two-edged sword, she was more blessed than Serena, for was she not allowed to nurse this man whom they both loved, while Serena was shut out even from a sight of his face?
"I will see him!" she cried, angrily. "I will find the matron of this institution, and demand to see Keith Kenyon. I have as much right to him as you."
Beatrix's large dark eyes met the gaze of the angry woman with a slow, calm scorn.
"He is my husband," she said, quietly.
Serena's eyes blazed.
"And you—what are you?" she demanded. "Accursed! According to the law of the land he is not your husband, because a creature like you is an accursed thing, set aside and apart from other human beings, something too dreadful to contemplate. You must be mad to think that your marriage to Keith Kenyon is, or can be, lawful. Any court in the land will give him freedom from such as you."