“Of course you rang the bell and sat down again.”
“No; she gave me a look that said, I don't want you here, and I went; but the storm broke out again as I closed the door, and I heard Lady Trafford's voice raised to a scream as I came downstairs.”
“It all shows what I have said over and over again,” said Sewell, slowly, “that whenever a man has a grudge or a grievance against a woman, he ought always to get another woman to torture her. I 'll lay you fifty pounds Lady Traf-ford cut deeper into my wife's flesh by her two or three impertinences than if I had stormed myself into an apoplexy.”
“And don't you mean to turn her out of the house?”
“Turn whom out?”
“Lady Trafford, of course.”
“It's not so easily done, I suspect. I'll take to the long-boat myself one of these days, and leave her in command of the ship.”
“I tell you she's a dangerous, a very dangerous woman; she has been ransacking her son's desk, and has come upon all sorts of ugly memoranda,—sums lost at play, and reminders to meet bills, and such-like.”
“Yes; he was very unlucky of late,” said Sewell, coldly.
“And there was something like a will, too; at least there was a packet of trinkets tied up in a paper, which purported to be a will, but only bore the name Lucy.”