"Indeed, I shall not consult you," returned Barbara, "upon my domestic arrangements, and I am astonished at your interference. It is I who have to attend to them, and I will not be thwarted and ordered to do this or that. You think a wife is a slave; I will show you that she is not." She paused a moment, and then shrugged her shoulders. "What you have to say had best be said at once, perhaps. In heaven's name let us get it over." She stepped to Annette's side, and whispered a word or two in her ear; the next moment we were alone. "Now, John, what is it?"
"With the connivance of that woman you have had false keys made, with which, in my absence—artfully contrived by yourself—you have opened my trunks."
"Go on."
"You admit it."
"I admit nothing. Go on."
"With those false keys you ransacked my trunks, and stole certain articles from them."
"Stole?" she cried with a scornful laugh. "A proper word for you to use."
"Never mind the word——"
"But I shall mind the word. You will be dictating to me next how I shall express myself. If there is a thief here, it is you. I call you thief to your face. You ought to feel flattered that I followed your example, but nothing seems to please you. And you should consider, my dear—what is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. You opened my trunks on the sly; I opened yours on the sly, and took possession of my property which you had stolen from me."
"I admit," I said, speaking without passion, "that I was wrong——"