"Yes, she is here."
"Had she not better come down and see me? She is my sister-in-law, anyway."
"No," said Mr. Peacocke; "I think, on the whole, that she had better not come down and see you."
"You don't mean to say she isn't my sister-in-law? She's that, whatever else she is. She's that, whatever name she goes by. If Ferdinand had been ever so much dead, and that marriage at St. Louis had been ever so good, still she'd been my sister-in-law."
"Not a doubt about it," said Mr. Peacocke. "But still, under all the circumstances, she had better not see you."
"Well, that's a queer beginning, anyway. But perhaps you'll come round by-and-by. She goes by Mrs. Peacocke?"
"She is regarded as my wife," said the husband, feeling himself to become more and more indignant at every word, but knowing at the same time how necessary it was that he should keep his indignation hidden.
"Whether true or false?" asked the brother-in-law.
"I will answer no such question as that."
"You ain't very well disposed to answer any question, as far as I can see. But I shall have to make you answer one or two before I've done with you. There's a Doctor here, isn't there, as this school belongs to?"