“You c-can’t imagine how flattered I am,” said Horatia politely.
He burst out laughing. “You adorable rogue, I believe a man might keep you a twelvemonth and not be tired of you!” He got up. “Come, Horry, throw in your lot with mine! You were made for something better than to be tied to a man who don’t care a rap for you. Come away with me, and I’ll teach you what love can be!”
“And then Rule can divorce m-me, and of c-course you’ll m-marry me?” suggested Horatia.
“I might even do that,” he concurred. He walked over to the table and picked up one of the bottles that stood on it, “Let us drink to—the future!” he said.
“Very w-well, sir,” Horatia answered in a voice of deceptive mildness. She had risen when he did, and taken a step towards the empty fireplace. Now, as he stood with his back to her, she bent swiftly and picked up the heavy brass poker that lay there.
Lethbridge was filling the second glass. “We will go to Italy, if you like,” he said.
“Italy?” said Horatia, tiptoeing forward.
“Why not?”
“B-because I wouldn’t go to the end of the street with you!” flashed Horatia, and struck with all her might.
The poker fell with a rather sickening thud. Half horrified, half triumphant, Horatia watched Lethbridge sway a moment, and crash to the ground. The wine-bottle, slipping from his nerveless fingers, rolled over the carpet, spilling its contents in a dark ruby flood.