But madam broke into a musical little laugh as he ceased.
"Do you imagine that I would leave such a ragged end as that in my plot?" she mockingly questioned. "The Kerbys were not called away by telegram, and no one can prove that either was ever told they were. The Kerbys are still here, dancing away as heartily as any one below, and they have known, from the first, that they would not appear in the last act—they and they only, were let into the secret that the play was to end with a real marriage."
"It is the most devilish plot I ever heard of," said her companion, passionately, through his tightly-locked teeth. "Your insane jealousy and suspicion, during the years we have lived together, have shriveled whatever affection I hitherto possessed for you!"
"Gerald!"
The name came hoarsely from the woman's white lips.
It was as if some one had stabbed her, and her heart had died with the utterance of that loved name.
He left her abruptly, and descended the stairs, never once looking back, while she watched him with an expression in her eyes that had something of the fire of madness in it, as well as that of a breaking heart.
When he reached the lower hall, she dashed down to the second floor, and into her own room, locking herself in.
Fifteen minutes later she came out again, but in place of the usual glow of health upon her cheeks, she had applied rouge to conceal the ghastliness she could not otherwise overcome, while there was a look of recklessness and defiance in her dark eyes that bespoke a nature driven to the verge of despair.
Making her way back to the ball-room, she was soon mingling with the merry dancers, and with a forced gayety that deceived every one save her husband.