Mitford's face grew very dark as he said:
"And suppose I were to ask you how the flirtation which you allege exists between me and--and the lady you have named,--which I utterly and entirely deny,--suppose I were to ask how this flirtation affects you, and, in short, what the devil business it is of yours?"
"How it affects me? Why--no, but that's too preposterous. Not even you, with all your vanity, could possibly imagine that I have in my own mind consented to forget the past, that I have buried the hatchet, that I have returned to my premier amour, and am consequently jealous of your attentions to Mrs. Hammond."
"I don't suppose that. But I can't see what other motive you can possibly have."
"You can't, and you never shall. I don't choose to tell you; perhaps I have taken compassion on your wife, who is very pretty--of her style--and seems very good and all that, and very fond of you, poor silly thing! and I don't choose her to be tormented by you. Perhaps I want that poor wretched invalid to die in peace, and not to have his life suddenly snuffed out by the scandal which is sure to arise if this goes on. Perhaps--but no matter! I don't intend to give my reasons, and I've told you what I want."
"And suppose I tell you--as I do tell you--I won't do what you want, and I defy you! What then?"
"Then I will compel you."
"Will you? Do you think I don't know the screw which you would put on me? You'd proclaim all about my former life, my connection with that rascally crew, of whom you were one--"
"Who brought me into it?"
"No matter;--of whom you were one! You'd rake up that story of the bill with my uncle's name to it. Well, suppose you did. What then? It would be news to nobody here--they all know of it."