“And what did you reply?” said he, throwing one leg over the arm of the chair as he swung round to face her.
“I don't well remember. I may have said you liked him, or that he liked you. It was such a commonplace reply I made, I forget it.”
“And was that all that passed on the subject?”
“I think I'd better send for the doctor,” said she, and left the room before he could stop her, though that such was his intention was evident from the way he arose from his chair with a sudden spring.
“You shall hear more of this, Madam,—by Heaven, you shall!” muttered he, as he paced the room with rapid steps. “Who's that? Come in,” cried he, as a knock came to the door. “Oh, Balfour! is it you?”
“Yes; what the deuce is going on upstairs? Lady Trafford appears to have gone mad.”
“Indeed! how unpleasant!”
“Very unpleasant for your wife, I take it. She has been saying all sorts of unmannerly things to her this last hour,—things that, if she were n't out of her reason, she ought to be thrown out of the window for.”
“And why didn't you do so?”
“It was a liberty I couldn't think of taking in another man's house.”