This pertinacity looked like defiance. Vizard rose from his chair, bowed ironically, with the air of a man not disposed for a hot argument.
“In that case—with permission—I'll withdraw to my veranda and, in that [he struck a light] peaceful—[here he took a suck] shade—”
“You will meditate on the charms of Ina Klosking.”
Vizard received this poisoned arrow in the small of the back, as he was sauntering out. He turned like a shot, as if a man had struck him, and, for a single moment, he looked downright terrible and wonderfully unlike the easy-going Harrington Vizard. But he soon recovered himself. “What! you listen, do you?” said he; and turned contemptuously on his heel without another word.
There was an uneasy, chilling pause. Miss Maitland would have given something to withdraw her last shot. Fanny was very uncomfortable and fixed her eyes on the table. Zoe, deeply shocked at Severne's deceit, was now amazed and puzzled about her brother. “Ina Klosking!” inquired she; “who is that?”
“Ask Mr. Severne,” said Miss Maitland, sturdily.
Now Mr. Severne was sitting silent, but with restless eyes, meditating how he should get over that figment of his about the sick friend.
Zoe turned round on him, fixed her glorious eyes full upon his face, and said, rather imperiously, “Mr. Severne, who is Ina Klosking?”
Mr. Severne looked up blankly in her face, and said nothing.
She colored at not being answered, and repeated her question (all this time Fanny's eyes were fixed on the young man even more keenly than Zoe's), “Who—and what—is Ina Klosking?”