A Double Knot Part 73

"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 hoa.r.s.ely.

"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?"