“W-well, you c-can’t!” declared Horatia.
The Earl opened his snuff-box, and took a pinch in a leisurely fashion. “No?” he said, politely interested.
“No!”
The Earl shut the snuff-box, and dusted his sleeve with a lace-edged handkerchief.
“W-well, have you n-nothing else to say?” demanded Horatia, goaded.
“Nothing at all, my dear,” said his lordship with unruffled good-humour.
Horatia made a sound rather like that of an infuriated kitten, and flounced out of the room.
Chapter Eleven
No lady of spirit, of course, could resist the temptation of pushing matters further, and Horatia was a lady of considerable spirit. The knowledge that the eyes of the Polite World were on her invested her behaviour with a certain defiance. That anyone should dare to suppose that she, Horry Winwood, had fallen in love with Lethbridge was a ludicrous presumption to be treated only with scorn. Attracted by Lethbridge she might be, but there was a very cogent reason why she should not be in the least in love with him. The reason stood well over six foot in height, and was going to be shown, in vulgar parlance, that what was sauce for the goose could be sauce for the gander as well. And if the Earl of Rule could be roused to take action, so much the better. Horatia, her first annoyance having evaporated, was all agog to see what he would do. But he must be made to realize that his wife had no intention of sharing his favours with his mistress.
So with the laudable object of making his lordship jealous Horatia sought in her mind for some outrageous thing to do.