"t.i.ta!"
t.i.ta"s mother-in-law grows immediately interested.
"Yes, t.i.ta. 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 t.i.ta 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 t.i.ta. She hesitates; she is lost!
"Oh, go on!" says Lady Rylton, who can be a little vulgar at times--where the soul is coa.r.s.e, the manner will be coa.r.s.e 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"ingenue_ has awakened at last!"
"If you mean t.i.ta," 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?"
"t.i.ta?"
"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 t.i.ta 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.
_"You_ advise!--you! Who are you?" says Lady Rylton insolently.
"When did I ask for your advice, or take it? Send that girl here--directly."
"Surely you forget that "that girl" is at this moment your hostess!"
says Marian Bethune, who has some sense of decency left. "This is her house; I could not deliver such a message to her."
"Then take another! Say----"
"Nor any other. She dislikes me, as I dislike her. If you wish to see her, send a message through her maid, or," a happy thought coming to her, "through Margaret; she cares for t.i.ta as a cat might care for her kitten!"
"Poor Margaret," says Lady Rylton, with a sneer. "I fear she will always have to care for other cats" kittens!"
"Do you? I don"t," says Marian, who, though she detests most people, has always a strange tenderness for Margaret.
"What do you mean?" asks Lady Rylton sharply.
"I think she will marry Colonel Neilson."
"Don"t make yourself more absurd than you need be!" says her aunt contemptuously. "An old maid like that! What could Colonel Neilson see in her? I don"t believe a word of that ridiculous story. Why, she is nearly as bad--_worse,_ indeed," with a short laugh, "than a widow----like you!"
"I think she will marry him, for all that," says Mrs. Bethune calmly, with supreme self-control. She takes no notice of her insult.
"You can think as you like," says her aunt. "There, go away; I must arrange about seeing that girl."
CHAPTER X.
HOW "THAT GIRL" WAS "SEEN" BY THE DOWAGER LADY RYLTON; AND HOW t.i.tA HELD HER SMALL HEAD VERY HIGH, AND FOUGHT A GOOD FIGHT WITH THE ENEMY.
There is scarcely time for Lady Rylton to make arrangements for a private interview with her daughter-in-law, as Mrs. Bethune has scarcely left her room before that small person knocks at the door.
And there is, perhaps, a slight touch of confusion on the older woman"s face as t.i.ta enters. She had not had time to prepare the little bitter barbs she had meant to fling against the girl"s heart, and is now slightly taken aback.
However, Nature, the All-Mother, has been generous to Tessie in the way of venom, and after a moment or two she tells herself that she will be able to get through this interview with honour.
"My dear t.i.ta. You! So glad! Pray come and sit down."
"I just came," says t.i.ta smiling, but hesitating on the threshold, as if desirous of an excuse to run away again as quickly as possible, "to see if you were quite comfortable--quite happy."
"Ah, _happy!"_ says Lady Rylton in a peculiar tone. "Do come in, t.i.ta. It is a fad of mine--a silly one, no doubt--but I cannot bear to look at an open door. Besides, I wish to speak to you."
t.i.ta closes the door and comes well into the room. She does not seat herself, however; she remains standing near the chimney-piece.
"About what?" asks she promptly.
"About many things." Perhaps the girl"s bluntness has daunted her a little, because, as she says this, she moves uneasily, and finally changes her seat for a low lounge that brings the light on the back of her head. "I am sorry to say I have heard several unpleasant things about you of late."
t.i.ta stares at her.
"I don"t understand you," says she.
"Then it must be my unhappy task to have to explain myself," says Tessie, who has now recovered herself, and is beginning to revel in the situation. The merriest game of all, to _some_ people, is that of hurting the feelings of others. "For one thing, I am grieved to hear that you have made my son far from happy in his married life."
A quick red dyes t.i.ta"s face. It lasts for a moment only. She controls herself admirably, and, going to a chair, pulls it a little forward in a perfectly self-possessed fashion, pausing a little over the exact position of it, after which she seats herself amongst the cushions.
"Has Maurice told you that?" asks she.
"Maurice? _No!"_ haughtily. "In _our_ set husbands do not complain of their wives."
"No?" says t.i.ta. She looks amused. "Then who else could it be in "our set" who has said nasty little things about me? Mrs. Bethune?"
"All this is beside the question," says the dowager, with a wave of her hand. "There is something else I must speak of--painful though it is to me!" She unfurls the everlasting fan, and wafts it delicately to and fro, as if to blow away from her the hideous aroma of the thing she is forced to say. "I hear you have established a--er--a far too friendly relationship with a--er--a cousin of your own."
If t.i.ta had grown red before, she is very white now.
"I am sure you are not aware of it," says she, setting her small teeth, but speaking quite calmly, "but you are very impertinent."