"Unsisterly woman!"
"She was quite right, after all," says Mrs. Monkton, who had defended Beauclerk herself, but cannot bear to hear another take his part.
"And, Dysart—how did he take it?" asks Monkton, smiling.
"I don't see how he should take it, anyway," says Joyce, coldly.
"Not even with soda water?" says her brother-in-law. "Of course, it would be too much to expect him to take it neat. You broke it gently to him I hope."
"Ah, you don't understand Mr. Dysart," says the girl, rising abruptly. "I did not understand him until yesterday."
"Is he so very abstruse?"
"He is very insolent," says Miss Kavanagh, with a sudden touch of fire, that makes her sister look at her with some uneasiness.
"I see," says Mr. Monkton, slowly. He still, unfortunately, looks amused. "One never does know anybody until he or she gives way to a towering passion. So he gave you a right good scolding for being caught in the rain with Beauclerk. A little unreasonable, surely; but lovers never yet were famous for their common sense. That little ingredient was forgotten in their composition. And so he gave you a lecture?"
"Well, he is not likely to do it again," says she slowly.