He was leaning back in a chair in an attitude of unstudied ease. It was characteristic of Sir Roland Brooke to make himself physically comfortable at least, whatever his mental atmosphere. He seldom raised his voice, and never swore. Yet there was about him a certain amount of force that made itself felt more by his silence than his speech.
His young wife, though she shrugged her shoulders and looked contemptuous, did not venture upon open defiance.
"I am to decline the invitation, then?" she asked presently, without turning.
"Certainly!" Sir Roland again made leisurely reply as he scanned the page before him.
"And give as an excuse that you are too staunch a Tory to approve of such an innovation as the waltz?"
"You may give any excuse that you consider suitable," he returned with unruffled composure.
"I know of none," she answered, with a quick vehemence that trembled on the edge of rebellion.
Sir Roland turned very slowly in his chair and regarded the delicate outline of his wife's figure against the window-frame.
"Then, my dear," he said very deliberately, "let me recommend you once more to have recourse to your ever romantic imagination!"
She quivered, and clenched her hands, as if goaded beyond endurance. "You do not treat me fairly," she murmured under her breath.