"Don't you, my lord?" said Mrs. Wilkinson, very despondently.
"Not one straw. I never heard such a proposition from a woman in my life—never. And now, if you'll allow me, I'll wish you good-morning, ma'am. Good-morning to you." And the marquis made a slight feint, as though to raise himself from his chair.
Mrs. Wilkinson got up, and stood upright before him, with her handkerchief to her eyes. It was very grievous to her to have failed so utterly. She still felt sure that if Lord Stapledean would only be made to understand the facts of the case, he would even yet take her part. She had come so far to fight her battle, that she could not bring herself to leave the ground as long as a chance of victory remained to her. How could she put the matter in the fewest words, so as to make the marquis understand the very—very truth?
"If your lordship would only allow me to recall to your memory the circumstances of the case,—how you, yourself, allocated—"
Lord Stapledean turned suddenly at the bell-rope, and gave it a tremendous pull—then another—and then a third, harder than the others. Down came the rope about his ears, and the peal was heard ringing through the house.
"Thompson," he said to the man, as he entered, "show that lady the door."
"Yes, my lord."
"Show her the door immediately."
"Yes, my lord," said Thompson, standing irresolute. "Now, ma'am; the post-chaise is waiting."
Mrs. Wilkinson had still strength enough to prevent collapse, and to gather herself together with some little feminine dignity. "I think I have been very badly treated," she said, as she prepared to move.