"He would! He did! I saw him. But don't you blame him. She's the one. How could he know better, in his condition?—utterly tired out! She drove him to it, I tell you."
"She—Genevieve? I assure you—"
"No, no! mamma, of course! She told him a pack of lies—took away all his hope. She made him think that Vievie had never really loved him."
"Impossible!—unless your mother herself believes it."
"Oh, she believes it—or thinks she does. She's so anxious—so anxious!" The girl sprang up and stamped her foot. "Oh! I wish she and her meddling were in Hades!"
"My dear Miss Dolores!" protested Lord James, tugging nervously at his mustache.
She whirled upon him in hysterical fury. "Don't you call me that! Don't you dare call me that! I won't have it! I won't! I'm not your dear! I tell you—"
His look of blank astonishment checked her in the midst.
"I—I—I didn't mean—" she gasped. "Oh! what must you think of me!"
She turned from him, her face scarlet with shame. But in the same instant she remembered Blake, and forgot herself in the disaster to him.