A cry burst from him as he looked down, and saw in truth, that there was no cap on the nipple. He thrust the pistol into his pocket, and threw himself into a chair in wild confusion.
The servant entered.
"Order a cab for Mr. Maxwell," Mrs. Vyner said.
The servant retired, and they were again alone. Not a word passed. Overwhelmed with rage and shame, Maxwell sat brooding on his stormy thoughts. Mrs. Vyner watched him with scorn: he had lost the hold over her which his violence had gained: she now thought that he was not so terrible as Marmaduke had been, and from having feared, she now despised him.
"The cab is at the door," said the servant.
Maxwell did not move. His dark thoughts occupied him. It had been no vulgar threat, for the pistol was really loaded, although the cap had been forgotten; but he understood the contempt with which she must regard him, and he was ruminating projects of vengeance.
She had taken up a book and was affecting to read, as if undisturbed by his presence; he was made aware of it by the rustle of the leaves as she turned them over; and conscious of the disadvantage of his position, he at length arose, and looking at her malignantly, said,—
"You fancy me an actor; I am one; my first appearance has been in a farce; laugh, laugh! my next will be in a tragedy!"
And with a low bow he retired.