"Yes. You are the person who must act in the matter. You must write a little note to Batiscombe, and tell him that your wife's sudden illness"—
"What? But it is only a little sun—a mere headache," interrupted Marcantonio.
"No matter;—that your wife's sudden illness is so severe that you must beg him to postpone the remainder of his visit to some future time."
Marcantonio looked more and more astonished.
"But I only asked him for a week. He will go of his own accord to-morrow or the day after. I am sorry, Diana, but you said you did not mind meeting him." He spoke seriously, with a puzzled expression on his face.
"It makes no difference," said Diana. "He must go to-morrow morning. He has not behaved honourably to you since he has been in the house."
Her brother looked suddenly very grave, and his voice dropped as he spoke.
"Has he insulted you, Diana?" he asked.
"Yes," said she, in low tones, "he has insulted me. But he has done worse, he has insulted your wife in my hearing."
Marcantonio turned suddenly on the sofa, and grasped his sister's arm as in a vise. His face turned a ghastly colour, and his voice trembled violently.