“She will have a chance to clear herself of the charge in a criminal court, if she can,” broke in Pauline with brutal frankness. “My mother and I are quite determined to push the matter to the end.”
“Thy determination is as nothing compared to mine,” retorted Madame Yvonett. “Marjorie’s innocence will be proved, and those who have traduced her shall suffer.”
“Threats don’t bother me,” Pauline shrugged her shoulders disdainfully. “Janet Fordyce saw Marjorie Langdon steal the necklace from mother”—Madame Yvonett swayed backward; then by a supreme effort, recovered from the deadly faintness which threatened to overcome her. “The Fordyces acknowledge her guilt, and have turned her out of their house.”
“The more shame to them.” The Quakeress rose abruptly to her feet, her eyes blazing with pent-up wrath. “I care not who accuses my niece—she is innocent of all wrong-doing; and so I will contend with my feeble strength and wit before the world”—in spite of every effort, she was trembling from head to foot. “My feet are already turned toward Eternity, but God will spare me to right so monstrous an injustice against an upright, honorable girl, whose only crime is poverty.”
Pauline’s unpleasant laugh was checked by the sudden entrance of a tall man who brushed her unceremoniously to one side.
“Madame Yvonett,” said Duncan clearly. “I share your faith in Marjorie——” A low cry burst from the Quakeress, and tears, which no jeer of Pauline’s had been able to call forth, rushed to her eyes. Blindly she caught Duncan’s strong hand and held it close in her trembling fingers. “Marjorie was not turned out of my father’s house, but left of her own accord,” continued Duncan. “Why this young lady should maliciously distort facts”—Pauline changed color as she met his contemptuous gaze—“she alone can explain.”
“You are very unjust,” protested Pauline. “I was but quoting Janet; I did not realize your sister’s word was—unreliable.”
But the gibe passed unnoticed except by Paul Potter, who had entered a few minutes before with Duncan, and remained standing in the hall. On their arrival they had found the front door wide open, and had been unintentional listeners to Pauline’s charges against Marjorie; the girl’s penetrating voice having carried each word to them with absolute distinctness.
“I hoped, Madame Yvonett, that this misunderstanding in which your niece is involved, would not reach your ears,” said Duncan. “I am sure if Miss Calhoun-Cooper pauses to reflect, she will say nothing further on the subject to anyone.”
Pauline had indeed been thinking rapidly. It was one thing to brow-beat Madame Yvonett, quite another to antagonize so influential a family as the Fordyces. Her social ambitions might easily be nipped in the bud if Duncan pursued his quixotic course and persuaded his parents to drop the Calhoun-Coopers from their acquaintance. Quickly she decided to modify her tone.