"You know what I mean. You mustn't be angry—especially about this,—because I don't want you to be."
"That's conclusive," said he. It was manifest to her that he was in a good humour, which was a great blessing. He had not been tried with his work as he was often wont to be, and was therefore willing to be playful.
"What do you think I've done?" said she. "I have been to Bolton Street and have seen Lady Ongar."
"No!"
"I have, Theodore, indeed."
Mr. Burton had been rubbing his face vehemently with a rough towel at the moment in which the communication had been made to him, and so strongly was he affected by it that he was stopped in his operation and brought to a stand in his movement, looking at his wife over the towel as he held it in both his hands. "What on earth has made you do such a thing as that?" he said.
"I thought it best. I thought that I might hear the truth,—and so I have. I could not bear that Florence should be sacrificed whilst anything remained undone that was possible."
"Why didn't you tell me that you were going?"
"Well, my dear; I thought it better not. Of course I ought to have told you, but in this instance I thought it best just to go without the fuss of mentioning it."
"What you really mean is, that if you had told me I should have asked you not to go."