“Married! Sir Charles married!”
“In three weeks.”
“It's a lie! You get out of my house this moment!”
Mr. Bassett colored at this insult. He rose from his seat with some little dignity, made her a low bow, and retired. But her blood was up: she made a wonderful rush, sweeping down a chair with her dress as she went, and caught him at the door, clutched him by the shoulder and half dragged him back, and made him sit down again, while she stood opposite him, with the knuckles of one hand resting on the table.
“Now,” said she, panting, “you look me in the face and say that again.”
“Excuse me; you punish me too severely for telling the truth.”
“Well, I beg your pardon—there. Now tell me—this instant. Can't you speak, man?” And her knuckles drummed the table.
“He is to be married in three weeks.”
“Oh! Who to?”
“A young lady I love.”