take his supper like the other people,' Marie said to her aunt. And
again, when the question of wine was mooted, she was almost saucy.
'If he's thirsty,' she said, 'what did for him last week, will do
for him next week: and if he's not thirsty, he had better leave it
alone.' But girls are always allowed to be saucy about their
lovers, and Madame Voss did not count this for much.

Marie was always thinking of those last words which had been spoken
between her and George, and of the kiss that he had given her. 'We
used to be friends,' he had said, and then he had declared that he
had never forgotten old days. Marie was quick, intelligent, and
ready to perceive at half a glance,--to understand at half a word,
as is the way with clever women. A thrill had gone through her as
she heard the tone of the young man's voice, and she had half told
herself all the truth. He had not quite ceased to think of her.
Then he went, without saying the other one word that would have been
needful, without even looking the truth into her face. He had gone,
and had plainly given her to understand that he acceded to this
marriage with Adrian Urmand. How was she to read it all? Was there
more than one way in which a wounded woman, so sore at heart, could
read it? He had told her that though he loved her still, it did not
suit him to trouble himself with her as a wife; and that he would
throw upon her head the guilt of having been false to their old
vows. Though she loved him better than all the world, she despised
him for his thoughtful treachery. In her eyes it was treachery. He
must have known the truth. What right had he to suppose that she
would be false to him,--he, who had never known her to lie to him?
And was it not his business, as a man, to speak some word, to ask
some question, by which, if he doubted, the truth might be made
known to him? She, a woman, could ask no question. She could speak