"It should have occurred to you. I hate the idea—that drunken attorney in my bedroom. It's not decent!"
"Lydia!" said Miss Bennett.
Eleanor spoke in a voice as cold as steel.
"What do you mean by calling Mr. O'Bannon a drunken attorney?"
"He drinks—Bobby says so."
"I did not say so!"
"Why, Bobby, you did!"
"I said he used to drink when he was in college."
"Oh, well, a reformed drunkard," said Lydia, shrugging her shoulders. "I can't imagine your doing such a thing, Benny, except that you always do anything that anyone asks you to do."
Her tone was more insulting than her words, and Miss Bennett did the most sensible thing she could think of—she got up and left the room. Lydia stood on the hearthrug, tapping her foot, breathing quickly, her jaw set.