“Is it my fault if he prefers me to you?”
“Is it his fault if you throw yourself under his feet every hour of the day? Leave him alone, or you shall pay for it.”
Miss Saker sat up stiffly in her chair, her face quivering as the words smote her.
“This is your gratitude after I have been such a friend to you! Oh, my God, I will be even with you, and that quickly. What of Gabriel Strong, and the girl you ruined? What of Jim’s cunning and bribery? Don’t I know all about this? Pay for it, indeed!”
Miss Saker recovered her composure of a sudden, went to the glass and began to braid her hair. She held the pins between her quivering lips, her hands working feverishly, her eyes hot and strained. Ophelia watched her as though half repentant, more from fear of what might follow than out of pity for her friend.
“What are you doing, Mab?”
Mabel Saker paid no heed to her, but went to the wardrobe, drew out a morning gown and coat, donned them, and took a hat from the bonnet rack.
“Have I hurt you, Mab?”
The brunette turned on her with eyes afire. She was a woman out of whose heart all pity and forgiveness had fled. Nothing but infinite resentment ruled her impulses.
“I will not stay in this house another hour.”