Leonora was dumb for a moment. The accusation came so suddenly that she was taken off her guard, besides being thoroughly frightened at her husband's terrible calmness, so unlike his manner under ordinary circumstances. She lay back in her low chair and tried to collect her thoughts.
"The man had also observed," continued Marcantonio, turning his keen dark eyes upon her, "that Monsieur Batiscombe had a beard, and was dressed like a fisherman. Altogether, it was extremely curious."
Marcantonio and his sister always spoke the truth. Batiscombe never lied in his life to save himself, but could do it boldly when it was absolutely necessary to save some one else. He had no principle about it, except that cowards told lies, and men did not,—that was the way he put it. He was not afraid of anything himself, but for a woman he would perjure himself by all the oaths in Christendom. It was his idea of chivalry to women, and could not altogether be blamed. But Leonora by a long apprenticeship to a very worldly mother, and owing to the singular confusion of her ideas, had acquired a moral obliquity which she defended to herself on the ground that the ultimate results she obtained were intended to be good. The telling of untruths, she argued, was in itself neither good nor bad; the consequences alone deserved to be considered. But as the consequences of lies are not easily cast up into totals of good and bad from the starting point, it sometimes occurred that she got herself into trouble. However, she was not hampered by prejudice, and she was a very clever woman, much cleverer than the great majority, and she was just now in a very hard position. In a few minutes she had made up her mind, and she answered Marcantonio fluently enough.
"Why," said she calmly, "should I not go out with Mr. Batiscombe when I please? If he chooses to dress like a fisherman, I suppose he has the right."
Marcantonio was rather staggered at her sudden confession. He had expected a denial; but there she sat as calmly as possible, telling him to his face that it was all true. However, he was not likely to lose his nerve again now that he was face to face with the difficulty.
"It appears to me, Leonora," he said, "that when I have turned a man out of my house for insulting you, it is sufficient reason"—
"For insulting me?" exclaimed Leonora in well-feigned astonishment. "Mr. Batiscombe never insulted me! You must be dreaming." She laughed a small dry laugh. But Marcantonio was not so easily put off.
"My sister," said he, "told me that Batiscombe insulted you in her hearing. I have always known my sister to speak the truth. Perhaps you will explain."
"What explanation do you want? You sent Mr. Batiscombe out of the house on the pretence that I was ill. Of course Diana made you do it,—I do not know how, nor what she said. You must talk it over with her. She was probably sick of him, and wanted him out of the way."
Leonora spoke scornfully, and almost brutally, and Marcantonio's blood began to grow hot.