"Death and damnation," cried Sir Jasper, "before my very eyes!"
He seized her by the wrist and flung her down upon the settee. "Nay," he cried, "there may be husbands that would put up with this, but I am not of them. So that is the Consoler! That is the Beau for whom you prink yourself with such fine feathers, whom you lie in wait for at the window to make signals to and smirk at! Oh, my innocent country daisy! Faugh! I might have known you were too fond—hypocrite!" He dashed at the window and burst its fastenings.
"Hey! you, you my Lord Verney, a word with you!" Sir Jasper was already foaming at the mouth.
The slim gentleman paused, surprised.
"Oh, heavens!" cried Lady Standish, "what have I done? Sir Jasper! my husband!" She threw herself upon him. "Sir Jasper, what do you suspect? Oh, heavens!" She was half fainting and scarce could articulate a coherent word. "It was all to tease you. It was but the sport of an idle moment. Oh, I implore you, believe me, believe me!"
"Ay, deny!" cried he. "Deny what I have seen with my own eyes! Let me go, madam." He thrust her aside, and, bareheaded, dashed down the stairs and out of the house towards Lord Verney, who, with a bashful, yet a pleasant smile, began to retrace his steps.
"'Tis a fair day, Sir Jasper," said he courteously, and then became aware of Sir Jasper's convulsed face, and noted that Lady Standish, whom but a moment before he had beheld all smiling beauty, now clung despairingly to the window-post, her countenance ghastly behind her rouge.
Lord Verney was a shy young man.
"Ah—ah, good morning," said he, bowed politely, and turned with celerity.
Sir Jasper flung a look of infinite derision and contempt towards his wife.