“My consent!” Carpentaria shouted bitterly. “My consent!” His wrath was dreadful, and yet to a certain extent he was controlling himself. “I suppose,” he addressed Juliette, “it’s your love for this estimable gentleman that leads you out into the gardens of a night, and I suppose you take beautiful romantic moonlight strolls together. My consent! Ye gods!”
The dog continued to growl.
Juliette gathered herself together, and moved to Ilam’s chair, and Ilam took her hand protectively.
“My poor dear! Never mind!” murmured Ilam soothingly.
Genuine affection spoke in those tones uttered by the stout and otherwise grotesque Mr. Ilam. Love itself unmistakably appeared in the attitude of the pair as they clasped hands in front of Carpentaria’s fury. And Carpentaria could not but be struck by what he saw. It sobered him, puzzled him, diverted his thoughts.
“Come, Juliette,” he said in a quieter, more persuasive tone.
He turned to leave the room, and Juliette obediently followed. Allowing her to pass before him, he stopped an instant and threw a glance at Ilam.
“So they’ve been trying to poison you, Ilam.”
“Poison me!” repeated Ilam, plainly at a loss.
“Yes,” said Carpentaria with a sneer. “And you never have ham and eggs for breakfast. That’s the reason why that plate is streaked with yellow. You always have milk. Naturally, you eat it with a knife and fork. And you suspected the milk and gave some of it to Neptune, and he fell down dead. He looks dead, doesn’t he?”