Your fault, and you my daughter. You broke
his heart, you tortured him, and you took him from me. I--I _hate_ you."
Brigit stared coldly at her. "Don't make a fool of yourself, mother,"
she said. "You know perfectly well that there is not a word of truth in
what you say."
"There is, there is! It was when you began to grow up that he ceased
loving me. It is all your fault. He wrote it to you. You are to blame;
you murdered him, his blood is on your head! And I scolded him when he
told me about you and Joyselle. I refused to believe him. Oh, Gerald,
Gerald!"
How much she believed of what she said it is impossible to say, but her
lack of self-control and her immense egotism were such that together
they made a formidable force to argue against.
Brigit sneered as she looked down at her. "For Heaven's sake, don't be
so ridiculous," she said impatiently. "And don't--lie."
"I am _not_ lying. He told me about you and Joyselle, and I believe him.
Yes I do, I believe him. You are in love with the man, and that's why
you don't marry his son----"
"Look here, mother," Brigit's temper was rising fast. "Answer one
question quietly, will you? Do you believe what Gerald Carron told you
about me and Joyselle?"
And Lady Kingsmead, whose hysterical excitement was now well beyond
control, screamed out that she did believe it.
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