“Then how dare you say that he isn't mine?”
“Kill me, Charles,” cried she, passionately; “but don't look at me so and speak to me so. Why I say he is not yours, is he like you either in face or mind?”
“And he is like—whom?”
Lady Bassett had lost all her courage by this time: she whimpered out, “Like nobody except the gypsies.”
“Bella, this is a subject which will part you and me for life unless we can agree upon it—”
No reply, in words, from Lady Bassett.
“So please let us understand each other. Your son is not my son. Is that what you look me in the face and tell me?”
“Charles, I never said that. How could he be my son, and not be yours?”
And she raised her eyes, and looked him full in the face: nor fear nor cringing now: the woman was majestic.
Sir Charles was a little alarmed in his turn; for his wife's soft eyes flamed battle for the first time in her life.