“Yes; I hate her.  And——­” She stops and lays her hands on Margaret’s arm and looks piteously at her.  “Do you know,” says she, “I used not to hate people.  I thought once I hated my uncle, but I didn’t know.  It was nothing like this.  It is dreadful to feel like this.”

There is poignant anguish in the young voice.  It goes to Margaret’s heart.

“Tita, be sensible,” says she sharply.  “Do you think all the misery of the world is yours?”

“No, no,” faintly.  “Only my portion is so heavy.”

She bursts into tears.

“Good heavens!” says Margaret distractedly, caressing her and soothing her.  “What a world it is!  Why, why cannot you and Maurice see how delightful you both are?  It is an enigma.  No one can solve it.  Tita darling, take heart.  Why—­why, if Marian were so bad as you think her—­which I pray God she isn’t—­still, think how far you can surpass her in youth, in charm, in beauty.”

“Beauty!”

The girl looks up at Margaret as if too astonished to say more.

"Certainly in beauty,” firmly.  “Marian in her best days was never as lovely as you are.  Never!”

“Ah!  Now I know you love me,” says Tita very sadly.  “You alone think that.”  She pauses, and the pause is eloquent.  “Maurice doesn’t,” says she.

“Maurice is a fool” is on Margaret’s lips, but she resists the desire to say it to Maurice’s wife, and, in the meantime, Tita has recovered herself somewhat, and is now giving full sway once more to her temper.

“After all, I don’t care!” exclaims she.  “Why should I?  Maurice is as little to me as I am to him.  What I do care about is being scolded by him all day long, when I have quite as good a right to scold him.  Oh, better!  He has behaved badly, Margaret, hasn’t he?  He should never have married me without telling me of—­of her.”

“I think he should have told you,” says Margaret, with decision.  “But I think, too, Tita, that he has been perfectly true to you since his marriage.”

“True?”

“I mean—­I think—­he has not shown any special attention to Marian.”

“He showed it to-night, any way,” rebelliously.

“He did not indeed.  She asked him to show her the chrysanthemums, and what could he do but go with her to the conservatory?  And I particularly noticed that as he passed Mrs. Chichester he asked her to come and see them too.”

“He didn’t ask me, at all events,” says Tita.

“Perhaps he was afraid; and, indeed, Tita”—­very gently—­“you are not so altogether blameless yourself.  You talked and played cards the whole night with Mr. Hescott.”

“Oh, poor old Tom!  That was only because I had been unkind to him in the morning, and because”—­ingenuously—­“I wanted to pay out Maurice.”

Margaret sighs.

“It is all very sad,” says she.

“It is,” says Tita, tears welling up into her eyes again—­a sign of grace that Margaret welcomes.