He told me so last night. He said he was going to marry her the first
minute he could persuade her to it--and little Edith's all ready to be
persuaded!" Sibyl's eyes flashed green again. "And he swore he'd do
it," she panted. "He swore he'd marry Edith Sheridan, and nothing on
earth could stop him!"
And then Mary understood. Her lips parted and she stared at the
babbling creature incredulously, a sudden vivid picture in her mind,
a canvas of unconscious Sibyl's painting. Mary beheld it with pity
and horror: she saw Sibyl clinging to Robert Lamhorn, raging, in a
whisper, perhaps--for Roscoe might have been in the house, or servants
might have heard. She saw Sibyl entreating, beseeching, threatening
despairingly, and Lamhorn--tired of her--first evasive, then brutally
letting her have the truth; and at last, infuriated, "swearing" to
marry her rival. If Sibyl had not babbled out the word "swore" it
might have been less plain.
The poor woman blundered on, wholly unaware of what she had confessed.
"You see," she said, more quietly, "whatever's going to be done ought
to be done right away. I went over and told Mother Sheridan what I'd
heard about Lamhorn--oh, I was open and aboveboard! I told her right
before Edith.
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