“Maurice does not flirt with me,” says she.

It seems horrible—­horrible, that thought.  Maurice—­his love—­it surely is hers!  And to talk of it as a mere flirtation!  Oh no! Her very soul seems to sink within her.

“My good child, who was speaking of you?” says Lady Rylton, with a burst of amusement.  “You should control yourself, my dear Marian.  To give yourself away like that is to suffer defeat at any moment.  One would think you were a girl in your first season, instead of being a mature married woman.  Well, and if not with you, with whom does Maurice flirt?”

“With no one.”  Marian has so far commanded herself as to be able now to speak collectedly.  “If you will keep to the word ‘flirtation,’ you must think of Tita, though perhaps ‘flirtation’ is too mild a word to——­”

“Tita!”

Tita’s mother-in-law grows immediately interested.

“Yes, Tita.  What I was going to say when you interrupted me was, that she refuses to take me into consideration—­or anyone else for the matter of that—­because——­”

She stops—­she feels choking; she honestly believes that Tita likes Tom Hescott far more than she likes her husband.  But that the girl is guilty, even in thought guilty, she does not believe; and now she speaks—­and to this woman of all others——­ And yet if she does speak, ruin will probably come out of it—­to Tita.  She hesitates; she is lost!

“Oh, go on!” says Lady Rylton, who can be a little vulgar at times—­where the soul is coarse, the manner will be coarse too.

“There is a cousin!” says Marian slowly.

“A cousin?  You grow interesting!” says Lady Rylton.  There is a silence for a moment, and then:  “Do you mean to tell me that this girl,” with a scornful intonation, “has a—­Really” with a shrug, “considering her birth, one may be excused for calling it—­a follower?"

“Yes.”

“And so l’ingénue has awakened at last!”

“If you mean Tita,” icily, “I think she is in love with her cousin; and, beyond all doubt, her cousin is in love with her.”

“Birds of a feather!” says Lady Rylton.  It has been plain to Marian for the past five minutes that her aunt has been keeping back her temper with some difficulty.  Now it flames forth.  “The insolence!" cries she, between her teeth.  “That little half-bred creature!  Fancy—­just fancy—­her daring to be unfaithful to my son!  To marry a Rylton, and then bring a low intrigue into his family!” She turns furiously on Marian.  “Where is she?”

“Tita?”

“Yes.  I must see her this moment—­this moment; do you hear?” The tyrannical nature of her breaks out now in a furious outburst.  She would have liked to get Tita in her grasp and crush her.  She rises.  “I wish to speak to her.”

“I should advise you to do no such foolish thing,” says Mrs. Bethune, rising too.