She rose and paced the room, with quick, agitated steps.
"Traitress! Traitress!" she almost hissed through her white lips. "It is
_her_ fault. It is _her_ fault. And I called her _friend_. Friend!
Treachery!"
Then she sank upon her bed, exhausted by the outburst of passion, for it
took but little of this to exhaust Beth. She was not a passionate girl.
Perhaps, never in her life before had she passed through anything like
passion, and she lay there now still and white, her hands folded as in
death.
In the meantime something else had happened at the Mayfair dwelling. She
had not noticed the tall man that passed her as she crossed the lawn in
the darkness, but a moment later a dark figure paused on the terrace in
the same spot where she had stood, and his attention was arrested by the
same scene in the library. He paused but a moment before entering, but
even his firm tread was unheard on the soft carpet, as he strode up the
hall to the half-open curtains of the library. Marie's face was still
drooping, but the next instant the curtains were thrown back violently,
and they both paled at the sight of the stern, dark face in the
door-way.
"Clarence Mayfair!" he cried in a voice of stern indignation.
Pages:
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69