As she passed the door of the drawing-room, she could hear James Wickham's voice raised above its normal pitch. Were they already quarreling over the spoils!
CHAPTER III
Nora's surmise had been very nearly correct; the Wickhams were quarreling, but not, as yet, over the spoils. James Wickham had waited until the door had closed behind his aunt's companion to rebuke his wife's untimely frivolity.
"I say, Dorothy, you oughtn't to be facetious before Miss Marsh. She was extremely attached to Aunt Louisa."
"Oh, what nonsense!" jeered Mrs. Wickham, throwing herself pettishly into a chair. "I find it's always a very good rule to judge people by oneself, and I'm positive she was just longing for the old lady to die."
"She was awfully upset at the end, you know that yourself."
"Nerves! Men are so idiotic. They never understand that there are tears and tears. I cried myself, and Heaven knows I didn't regret her death."
"My dear Dorothy, you oughtn't to say that."
"Why not?" retorted his wife. "It's perfectly true. Aunt Louisa was a detestable person and no one would have stood her for a minute if she hadn't had money. I can't see the use of being a hypocrite now that it can't make any difference either way. Oh, why doesn't that man hurry up!" She resumed once more her impatient walk about the room.