“The more I see of him,” continued Constance, heedless of Mary's darkening brow, “the better I like him. He is the very type of what a man should be—strong and independent, yet gentle, so patient when his patience is tried. It was easy to see that he was not happy, and that the cause of it was the coldness of one Mary Starbrow.”
“Why not your coldness, or Fan's coldness?” snapped the other.
“I was not, and could not, be cold to him, and as to Fan——”
“Why, he was constantly with me; we were the best of friends, as you know very well, Mary.”
“So handsome too, and he has such a fine voice,” continued Constance. “Sometimes when he and Mary sang duets together, and when he seemed so grateful for her graciousness, I thought what a splendid couple they would make. Didn't you think the same, Fan?”
“Yes,” she replied a little doubtfully.
“Yes!” mocked Mary. “It would be a great pleasure to me to duck you in the sea for slavishly echoing everything Constance says.”
“Thank you, Mary, but I'm not so fond of getting wet as you are,” said Fan, with a somewhat troubled smile.
Constance went on pitilessly:
Oh, he was the half part of a better man
Left to be finished by such as she;
And she a fair divided excellence
Whose fullness of perfection was in him.