"But I am not going to scold. I am only going to advise you."
"I'd sooner be scolded. Advice is to anger just what cold anger is to hot."
"But, my dear Glencora, surely if I find it necessary to speak—"
"I don't want to stop you, Plantagenet. Pray, go on. Only it will be so nice to have it over."
He was now more than ever averse to the task before him. Husbands, when they give their wives a talking, should do it out of hand, uttering their words hard, sharp, and quick,—and should then go. There are some works that won't bear a preface, and this work of marital fault-finding is one of them. Mr. Palliser was already beginning to find out the truth of this. "Glencora," he said, "I wish you to be serious with me."
"I am very serious," she replied, as she settled herself in her chair with an air of mockery, while her eyes and mouth were bright and eloquent with a spirit which her husband did not love to see. Poor girl! There was seriousness enough in store for her before she would be able to leave the room.
"You ought to be serious. Do you know why Mrs. Marsham came here from Lady Monk's last night?"
"Of course I do. She came to tell you that I was waltzing with Burgo Fitzgerald. You might as well ask me whether I knew why Mr. Bott was standing at all the doors, glaring at me."
"I don't know anything about Mr. Bott."
"I know something about him though," she said, again moving herself in her chair.