"You don't mean to say Sarah's been making herself disagreeable already!" he said. And his tone was affectionate and diplomatic, yet faintly ironical. He had perceived that something unusual had occurred, perhaps something serious, and he was anxious to soothe and to justify his wife. Hilda perfectly understood his mood and intention, and she was reassured.
"Hasn't Sarah told you?" she asked in a harsh, uncontrolled voice, though she knew that he had not seen Sarah.
"No; where is she?" he inquired patiently.
"It's Louisa," Hilda went on, with the sick fright of a child compelled by intimidation to affront a danger. Her mouth was very dry.
"Oh!"
"She lost her temper and made a fearful scene with Sarah, on the stairs; she said the most awful things."
George laughed low, and lightly. He guessed Louisa's gift for foul insolence and invective.
"For instance?" George encouraged. He was divining from Hilda's singular tone that tact would be needed.
"Well, she said you'd got a wife living in Devonshire."
There was a pause.