He went down into the drawing-room, there to await her pleasure; sulky and suspicious, angry yet anxious.
Hester, meanwhile, gave full scope to the paroxysm of her grief. In Cecil's manner, she had read her condemnation. She understood his momentary aberration. She saw that although he had not been able to withstand the excitement of that moment, yet it was not his heart, but his senses she had captivated. She saw that he loved his wife!
Fierce were the convulsions into which this conviction threw her, and many were the tears she shed; but after an hour's misery she grew calmer, and began to think of her condition.
Sir Chetsom was below, awaiting her. He was jealous; he was angry. He was ready to quarrel with her, and she felt that a good quarrel was just the thing she wanted.
Prepared, therefore, for a "scene," she descended into the drawing-room.
"Oh! at last," said Sir Chetsom, coldly.
"Yes, Sir Chetsom, at last. I presume I may choose my own time for seeing my visitors; those who do me the honour of calling upon me will be pleased to accept that condition, or else be pleased to stay away."
"Indeed, madam!" replied he, greatly astonished at her tone, and foreseeing that she was ready to burst forth at a word.
"So it is, Sir Chetsom. In which class am I to place you?"
"Hester, I don't understand this language."