'That's half a hit.'
'I 'm to talk italics, for you to store a smart word or so.'
'True, I swear! And, please, begin.'
'You hang for the Fates to settle which is to be smothered in you, the man or the lord—and it ends in the monk, if you hang much longer.'
'A bit of a scorpion in his intention,' Fleetwood muttered on a stride.
'I'll tell you this, Gower Woodseer; when you lay on in earnest, your
diction is not so choice. Do any of your remarks apply to Lady
Fleetwood?'
'All should. I don't presume to allude to Lady Fleetwood.'
'She has not charged you to complain?'
' Lady Fleetwood is not the person to complain or condescend to speak of injuries.'
'She insults me with her insane suspicion.'
A swollen vein on the young nobleman's forehead went to confirm the idea at the Wythans' that he was capable of mischief. They were right; he was as capable of villany as of nobility. But he happened to be thanking Gower Woodseer's whip for the comfortable numbness he felt at Carinthia's behaviour, while detesting her for causing him to desire it and endure it, and exonerate his prosy castigator.