"It doesn't matter, Martha: never mind: leave me alone," sobbed the poor woman.
"May I be excused for asking what is really the matter?" said Mr. Furnival, "for I'll be whipped if I know." Miss Biggs looked at him as if she thought that he ought to be whipped.
"I wonder you ever come near the place at all, I do," said Mrs. Furnival.
"What place?" asked Mr. Furnival.
"This house in which I am obliged to live by myself, without a soul to speak to, unless when Martha Biggs comes here."
"Which would be much more frequent, only that I know I am not welcome by everybody."
"I know that you hate it. How can I help knowing it?—and you hate me too; I know you do;—and I believe you would be glad if you need never come back here at all; I do. Don't, Martha; leave me alone. I don't want all that fuss. There; I can bear it now, whatever it is. Do you choose to have your tea, Mr. Furnival? or do you wish to keep the servants waiting out of their beds all night?"
"D—— the servants," said Mr. Furnival.
"Oh laws!" exclaimed Miss Biggs, jumping up out of her chair with her hands and fingers outstretched, as though never, never in her life before, had her ears been wounded by such wicked words as those.
"Mr. Furnival, I am ashamed of you," said his wife with gathered calmness of stern reproach.