The phrase came by haphazard to Samuel’s tongue, and he uttered it with gusto, repeating it twice or thrice.
‘Constructive murder—nothing short of that. And to think that these people enjoy a positive immunity—impunity.’ He corrected himself quickly; then, uncertain whether he had really made a mistake, reddened and twisted his gloves. ‘To think’—he raised his voice—‘that they are capable of making money out of disease and death! It is one of the worst illustrations of a corrupt spirit in the commercial life of our times that has yet come under my observation.’
He remained for a couple of hours, talking ceaselessly. A glance which he now and then cast at Miss. Morgan betrayed his hope that she would take her leave before the necessary time of his own departure. Jessica, perfectly aware of this desire, sat as though no less at home than Nancy. Every remark she made was a stroke of malice at her friend, and in her drawn features appeared the passions by which she was tormented.
As soon as Mr. Barmby had regretfully withdrawn, Nancy turned upon the girl with flashing eyes.
‘I want to speak to you. Come downstairs.’
She led the way to the dining-room. Jessica followed without a word.
‘Why are you behaving like this? What has come to you?’
The feeble anaemic creature fell back before this outbreak of wholesome wrath; her eyes stared in alarm.
‘I won’t put up with it,’ cried Nancy. ‘If you think you can insult me because I trusted you when you were my only friend, you’ll find your mistake. A little more, and you shall see how little your power over me is worth. Am I to live at your mercy! I’d starve rather. What do you mean by it?’
‘Oh—Nancy—to think you should speak to me like this.’