"I wished to do everything for the best, my child," said Lord Henry
Moorpark. "I did not like the idea, but Elbraham pressed me to come,
and for your sake, as Mrs Elbraham is your sister, I gave way. I wish
you had spoken sooner. We have not dined with them since we have been
married."
It was too late then, for they were in the carriage on the way to Palace
Gardens. But the dinner-party was not to pass off without trouble, for
after the ladies had left, and while Lord Henry was fighting hard with a
bad cigar, sipping his coffee and listening to his brother-in-law's
boastings about the way in which the money market was rigged, the butler
entered softly, and whispered something to Lord Henry, who rose on the
instant.
"Anything wrong, Moorpark?" said Elbraham, in his coarse, rough way.
"Only a call for me," cried Lord Henry hastily. "Pray sit still, and do
not let my absence interfere with your enjoyment."
"All right; come back as soon as you can," cried Elbraham; but by that
time Lord Henry was in the hall, for the butler had whispered to him
that her ladyship had been suddenly taken ill.
To Lord Henry's astonishment, he found Marie in the hall, hastily
drawing a long scarf round her neck and over her head.
"Take me home," she whispered hoarsely, as he hurried to her side.
"My darling! are you ill?" he cried.
"Yes. Very ill, take me home."
"Had I not better send for medical help at once?"
"No, no. Home! home!" she whispered, as she clung to his arm.
"But the carriage, my darling? It will not be here till after ten."
"Let me walk. Take a cab. Anything; only get me away from this house,"
she whispered imploringly; and there was that in her face which made
Lord Henry send at once for a cab; and it was not until they were in it,
and on their way to their house in Saint James's, that Marie seemed as
if she could breathe.
She had thrown herself into his arms as soon as they were in the cab,
excitedly bidding him tell her that he trusted her, that she was his own
wife, and ended by such a hysterical burst that he grew alarmed, and was
about to bid the driver stop at the first doctors, when she seemed to
divine that which he intended to do, and gradually grew calmer.
Hereupon he was about to question her, but at his first words the
symptoms from which she suffered seemed ready to recur, so he contented
himself with holding her hands in his, while she lay back with her head
upon his shoulder, every now and then uttering a piteous moan.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The ladies had ascended to the drawing-room that evening, and as soon as
they were seated alone there, Marie felt that she had made a mistake in
coming.
The memory of the evening of the "at home" came back very vividly, try
how she would to drive it away, and whenever she glanced furtively at
Clotilde, she seemed to be gazing not at her sister, but at the woman
who had done her a deadly injury.
She fought against this feeling, but it seemed to strengthen, especially
as Clotilde kept smiling in a triumphant way--so it seemed to her; and
Marie shivered as she felt that she was beginning to hate this sister of
hers.
It only wanted Clotilde's confession to seal the growing feud, and make
Marie's dislike grow into hate indeed.
"How little we see of each other now, love!" began Clotilde. "I
thought, dear, that when we were married we should be inseparable. Is
it my fault?"
"My husband is very fond of quiet," said Marie. "We go out but seldom."
"Poor old gentleman!" said Clotilde mockingly. "I hope you nurse him
well."
Marie started, but she said nothing, and Clotilde went on:
"Isn't it nice, dear, to be one's own mistress, with plenty of money at
one's command, and as much jewellery as one likes? Do you remember how
we used to long for it all?"
"Yes, I remember," replied Marie, sighing in spite of herself.
"You remember? Yes, and you sigh about it. Why, Rie, you ought to be
as merry as the day is long. Lord Henry is a dear old fellow. How much
older, though, he seems than Elbraham! I say, Rie, wouldn't you like to
change?"
"The conversation?" said Marie. "Yes; certainly."
"No, my dear, not the conversation, but husbands. Poor old Rie! I
rather pity you, for Lord Henry is decidedly slow."
"Clotilde," said Marie, with dignity. "Lord Henry Moorpark is my dear
husband and your guest. The way in which you are speaking of him gives
me pain."
"Pain? Why, Rie, what stuff you are talking--and to me! Heigho! it
seems very hard upon us that we should have had to marry these wretched
old men, instead of such fellows as--say Captain Glen."
"How can you speak like that, Clo!" cried her sister, flushing. "I beg
you will be silent."
"Beg, then," retorted Clotilde, with a resumption of her old schoolroom
ways. "Who cares? I shall talk as I like."
"Do you think it is respectful to your husband or your duty as a woman
to speak of--of--that man as you do."
"Oh yes," replied Clotilde carelessly. "Why not? I liked Marcus Glen
ever so."
"Clotilde! for heaven's sake be silent. Think of your position--of what
you are. Your words are terrible."
"Terrible? What, because I said I liked Marcus Glen? Why, so I do.
He's a splendid fellow."
Marie's eyes sought the door, but they were quite alone, and she glanced
back at her sister with a look of disgust and annoyance painted upon her
face in vivid colours.
"Oh, there's no one to hear us, and I don't mind what I say before you,
Rie. You won't go and tell tales. You dare not. I say dare," she
continued, with a malignantly spiteful look in her countenance. "You
were fond of Marcus Glen, weren't you?"
Marie did not reply, but sat there with an outraged look upon her face,
and Clotilde smiled to herself, and her eyes glittered with malicious
delight as she went on:
"Do you know, Rie, I have a good mind to quarrel with you to-night, as I
have got you here."
"Quarrel with me? Why should you do that?" said Marie quietly.
"Oh, for a hundred reasons, my sweet sister. For one, because it is so
long since you and I had a good scold. For another, because it was so
underhanded of you to hold back when dear aunties wanted us to marry
well."
"Don't be foolish, Clo!" said Marie. "Let us talk of something else."
"Yes, we will by-and-by, my sweet sissy; but it was shabby of you to let
me marry my old man, and then take advantage of my being fast to make up
to my former beau."
"Can such talk as this benefit either of us?" said Marie, flushing.
"Surely it is beneath your dignity as a wife to speak as you do."
"Dignity? Pooh! Women who marry as we have done, for money, have no
dignity--they have sold it."
"Clotilde!"
"Well, it's quite true, and you know it. Trash! As if we either of us
ever had any. It was nipped in the bud by our dear aunts. No, my dear
Rie, we have no dignity, either of us. Slaves have no such commodity.
We are only white slaves, the property of the dreadful old men who took
a fancy to us and bought us!"
"For heaven's sake, Clo, be silent," cried Marie, who had to fight hard
to keep down her agitation. "This is cruel?"
"Well, what if it is? Why should you not feel it as well as I? You
hate and despise your husband as much as I do mine, and though you are
so quiet and so shy, Rie, you mean to take your revenge; and why not?"
"I do not understand you," exclaimed Marie.
"Bah! That you do, and I know it. I am not so mad as to believe in
your smooth ways and sham fondness for that old man."
"Clotilde, I will not sit and listen to you," cried Marie. "Your words
are disgraceful."
"Better speak plain than be smug and smooth and secretive, you handsome
hypocrite! There, it won't do, Rie. You may as well drop the veil
before me. All this wonderful show of modesty and mock devotion is
thrown away."
"Are you going out of your senses?" said Marie hoarsely.
"Half-way," was the reply. "It is enough to madden any woman, to be
sold as I was."
"You accepted Mr Elbraham of your own free will," said Marie
indignantly, "and it is your duty to remember that you are his wife."
"Is it?" cried Clotilde angrily, and speaking as if she were fanning her
temper to raging point. "I know what my duty is to my slave-owner
better than you can tell me, madam; but, clever as you are, you did not
keep out of the marriage mess."
"What do you mean?"
"What do I mean?" cried Clotilde, who was excited with the wine she had
drunk, and her desire to sting her sister to the quick. "Why, you did
not suppose I was going to sell myself for a position and let you hang
back and marry the man I loved."
"The man you loved?" said Marie, turning very pale.
"Yes, the man I loved--Marcus Glen. He loved me, and you knew it, and
hung back always, with your soft, cat-like ways, trying to win him from
me."
"It is not true," cried Marie.
"Yes, it is, and you know it is true. That's why you refused Lord Henry
at first, so that you might win Marcus, as you thought. Do you think I
was blind?"
"Clotilde," said Marie, "this is terrible to me! Did you ask me here
to-night to insult me?"
"Not I, my dear, only to congratulate you on being such a good, dutiful
girl, and obeying our sweetly-affectionate, care-taking, washed-out old
aunts. It is so pleasant to see you like I am, and well out in society.
I meant that you should be, and so you are. Why, you are ever so much
better off than I am--Lady Henry Moorpark. I ought to rise and make
obeisance to you, but I am too lazy. But to set aside joking, you ought
to be highly grateful, and kiss me for what I have done."
"I do not understand you," said Marie, unconsciously playing with her
wedding-ring.
"Why, I brought you to your senses, silly child!"
"Brought me to my senses!" exclaimed Marie, fighting down an intense
desire to rise and leave the room.
"To be sure, my dear; I have quite taken to dear aunts' worldly ideas of
what is right for girls to do. You know I did my duty, as they laid it
out for me; and then, when I saw my silly sister hang back and spend her
time in making eyes at the penniless officer I could not afford to
marry, I said. `This will not do. I love dear Marie too well to let
her make a fool of herself. She shall marry Lord Henry Moorpark, or
I'll know the reason why.'"
"You are talking folly," said Marie huskily.
"Perhaps so, Rie; but you did not marry my Marcus, and you did marry
Lord Henry. Yes, that's the golden link of your slavery, sweet sister,"
she said as she saw Marie touch her wedding-ring; "but how dutiful you
must feel! Haven't seen Marcus lately, have you?"
Marie made no reply.
"You don't believe me," continued Clotilde maliciously. "It was very
funny how it all turned out. Do you remember the night of our party?"
Did she remember it! The recollection was burned into her brain.
"Poor Marcus!" continued Clotilde, "he is a great goose of a fellow.
How astonished he looked!"
Marie was white and red by turns, and the place seemed to swim round
before her; but she fought hard to hide her feelings from her sister's
malicious eyes.
"I must do him the justice to say that he behaved very well on the
whole."
"Clotilde, you must be mad," said Marie hoarsely. "If you were in your
right senses, you would not speak like this."
"Oh yes, I would, my dear," laughed Clotilde. "I am no more mad than
you are; but I was determined that you should never marry Marcus Glen,
and I kept you apart."
"It is false," cried Marie excitedly. "I threw him over for his
reckless conduct with you."
"You threw him over because I made you, my dear," said Clotilde
contemptuously. "Do you think, Rie, I was going to sit still here as
Elbraham's wife, and see you marry Marcus! No, my dear, that I would
not do."
Marie was like stone now, and she remained motionless, while Clotilde
lay back in her lounge and continued her shameless avowals.
"I wanted to spite you a little, darling, in a kindly sort of way, and I
could not have behaved better to you than to help you do your duty to
our dear aunts and win a rich husband and a title."
"Is this talk for some purpose?" said Marie at last, angrily.
"Yes, my dear, of course it is; but you must be very smooth-faced and
quiet now, and not let the gentlemen see that we have been talking about
our old beaux. But seriously, Rie, you never thought I should sit down
quietly and let you carry off Marcus Glen?"
Marie began to tremble, for a horrible suspicion had assailed her, one
which moment by moment grew more strong; while, seeing the effect of her
words, Clotilde went on with malicious glee:
"It would not do at any cost, my dear, so I carried off poor stupid
Marcus that night."
"This was your doing, Clotilde," said Marie at last, panting as if for
breath.
"To be sure it was. Poor old fellow! He behaved very nicely by holding
his tongue and taking all the blame, when he was as innocent as a lamb."
"Innocent!" exclaimed Marie involuntarily.
"To be sure he was, my dear. Why, he was as fond of you as could be,
only I led him into that scrape so that he would not be able--"
Clotilde got no farther, for even she was startled at the effect of her
words upon her sister, who sprang from her seat and caught her by the
hands.
"Clotilde!" she exclaimed hoarsely, "this is all a lie! Tell me it is
all a lie, and I will forgive you."
"Do as you like, only don't squeeze diamond rings into my fingers. All
true enough: Marcus held his tongue, as I tell you, like a lamb, to save
my credit. What fools men are!"
"Then--then," wailed Marie, "he was true?"
"Why, my sentimental sister! You ought to bless me instead of looking
like that."
For a moment, though, in spite of her forced mirth, Clotilde shrank from
her sister's wild gaze, but only to put on an air of bravado as she
exclaimed:
"There, Rie, I made up my mind to serve you out, and I did."
Marie drew away from her, gazing in her false, handsome face the while,
and sank back in the nearest chair, holding her hands pressed against
her side as if she were in terrible pain, while her face worked as a
convulsive sob escaped from her breast.
"What does it matter now? You are looking as if--as if--Rie! Here,
take my salts."
"Keep back, woman--don't touch me!" cried Marie, in a low voice.
"Sister? No, you must be a demon, and--oh! God help me! God help me!"
she wailed; "what have I done?"
Clotilde rushed at her with an imperious "Hush!" but her sister avoided
her grasp, and fled to the bell, rang it furiously, and startled
Clotilde into silence, as a servant hurried up.
"Quick! I am ill. Fetch Lord Henry," gasped Marie; and as the butler
hurried out, she followed him downstairs, leaving her sister too much
startled by the effects of her revelation to do more than listen at the
half-opened door.
"What do I care!" she said at last. "She is ill, and she is gone. She
will not dare to say a word, and I can live down any nonsense on the
part of Rie."
The front door closed as she uttered these words, after which she turned
back into the room, and threw herself upon a couch.
"I wish someone would come, if it was only stupid little Dick," she said
pettishly. "Poor old Rie! But she did not marry Marcus Glen."
Clotilde's white teeth closed with a snap, and she lay perfectly still,
gazing at her handsome face in the nearest glass.
Volume 3, Chapter VIII.