"Nonsense; don't let's have any of your confounded sneers. A fellow can't speak without being treated to something of the sort, and I hate it!"
He set his glass down on the table with an energy that made the bottles dance; but Yates only laughed, and Dickinson soon smoked himself into a state of reasonable tranquillity.
Thus much of their conversation Sybil paused in the hall to hear. She lifted her hand and shook it menacingly toward her husband, while the fire kindled and leaped in her blue eyes, rendering them ten times more cruel and ferocious than anger can orbs of a darker color. But, after that momentary spasm of anger, she passed on; and, as she walked slowly back and forth through the silent rooms, the coldness and quiet came back to her face.
"I've a bit of news, Phil," said Dickinson, after a few moments, "and it is worth hearing."
"Tell it then, by all means."
"This isn't just the place. Who knows how many listeners we may have?"
"Fiddlesticks! The men are busy eating, and the women looking at them. There's nobody to listen unless it be Sybil—"
"She never takes the trouble," interrupted Tom. "If we tell her a thing, well and good; if not, she never bothers her head about the matter."
"I believe that is true. But what is your news?"
Dickinson rose and walked toward the hall, to be certain that there was no intruder within hearing; then he returned to the table and drew his chair close to that of his friend.