"I might ask you the same question!" she retorted. "I am here, Miss Serena Lynne, because this is my home now. Old Bernard Dane is my uncle, and I have a right beneath his roof. May I ask—what brought you here?"
Serena's eyes snapped.
"Yes; you may ask, if you like," she said, acidly. "I came here because my mother and I were taking a trip through the South, and I had a right to see my betrothed husband."
"Your—betrothed husband?" faltered Beatrix, too overcome with emotion to realize what she was saying. "What do you mean, Serena? You must be out of your senses!"
"Not at all!" returned Serena, curtly. "I should think you would understand the situation by this time, without any further explanation from me. I am engaged to be married to Keith Kenyon. Surely I have a right to come here with my mother when he is ill and anxious to see me. At all events, we are here, and I do not intend to leave. This is my room, Miss Beatrix Dane"—as Beatrix paused upon the threshold of the room which Mrs. Graves had assigned to Serena—"and I would thank you to leave it!"
Without a word, Beatrix turned and left Miss Lynne alone.
She flew like a wounded creature back to her own apartment, and closed and locked its door behind her.
For a time she stood in the center of the room, staring vacantly before her, not knowing what to think, her senses were in such a whirl.
What did this mean? Was Serena telling the truth? If so, then Keith had deceived her—Beatrix—in the most heartless manner; and there was nothing for her to hope for upon earth. She fell upon her knees beside the bed and burying her face in the pillows, wept bitterly. She realized that there was trouble—more trouble—great, black clouds of trouble, growing dark around her pathway. The very sight of Serena Lynne was enough to warn Beatrix of fresh cause for grief.