Gilbert found it hard to realize that any husband could say a thing like this in the presence of his wife. It revealed, if anything further were needed to reveal, the cur in the man.
"We're not all as rotten as you are, Pell! Don't forget that!" he cried. "You're a dog—a low-down dog." It was all he could do not to spring upon this craven and pin him to the floor.
"And we're not all as discreet as you!" Pell flung back. "And now, if you don't mind," he added insinuatingly, "I'd like to talk to my wife—alone."
Gilbert was consumed with fear for Lucia. "What?" he cried.
"Have you any objections?" Pell said, curling his lip. The irony in his tone was unmistakable.
Gilbert moved toward the door. "Why—no."
"Thank you," Pell said; and he threw wide the door leading from the alcove so that his host might pass through. He waited for him to do so. Gilbert hesitated for the fraction of a second. He looked at Pell, and then at Lucia, still lovely for all her suffering. There was nothing to say—nothing he could say. He disappeared into the other room, and shut the door behind him. Pell immediately turned to the others. "Well?" he said.
"You mean you want us to get out too?" Uncle Henry asked, indignation in his high voice.
"That's exactly what I do mean," Morgan Pell stated, firmly. "And the sooner the better."
The situation, he felt, was entirely in his hands.