Chesterfield chuckled foolishly.
“What are the symptoms?”
“Yellow, sir, yellow—a very jaundice of the eye. Why, what hath happened between yesterday and to-day?”
“Nothing, I tell you—or perhaps everything. Is she so much admired?”
“Is Kate? Can you ask, who have eyes and senses?”
“I think I’ve been at fault.”
“Tell her so, then.”
“Why, that’s the devil o’t. We’re not on speaking terms.”
Hamilton sneered.
“So, it’s come to a head with her? And who but a blind dullard would ever have failed to foresee that end? Yet, with one so gracious, it must have needed a foul provocation to drive her to such extremes. What, may I ask, was the deciding insult?”