"So you're goin' out again," said she, taking up the poker and stirring the fire into a blaze. As she did so, a hot coal fell on the idiot's finger, and he threw himself backwards with a hideous howl.
"What is it, my darling, my lamb?"
The woman went on her knees, and caught the unwieldy mass of humanity to her with long arms. It had been but a slight burn, and after awhile the turmoil subsided. Mrs. Darkham rose from her knees, and the idiot went back to his play amongst the cinders.
"I believe you'd see him burnt alive with joy," said she, turning to her husband, a great animosity within her eyes.
"Your beliefs are so numerous, and are always so complimentary, that it is hard to reply," said Dr. Darkham, with a slow smile.
If her glance had betrayed animosity, his, to her, betrayed a most deadly hatred.
"Oh, there, you're at your sneers again!" said she shrugging her ample shoulders. "So you're going out this wet day. Where?"
"To"—slowly—"visit the sick."
"Same old answer," said she, trying to laugh contemptuously.
"What you mean is—only you haven't the courage to say it—that you're going to Rickton Villa."