“Women!” Martin ejaculated, with loathing. “Now I know what they are! I shall never again be taken-in!” He took a turn about the room, his restless hands picking up, and discarding, a book that lay on the table, twitching a fold of the curtains into place, tugging at one of the heavy tassels adorning the hangings of the great bed, and finally seizing on an ivory comb from the dressing-table, and bending it savagely until it snapped in two pieces. He cast them from him, saying defiantly: “I’ve broken your comb! I beg your pardon!”
“It is of no consequence.”
“I suppose you have a dozen combs!” Martin said, as though this likelihood added to his hatred of his brother.
A discreet knock on the door made the Earl turn his head. It heralded the entrance of a footman, who said apologetically that he was sent to inform his lordship that dinner awaited his pleasure.
“Desire Abney to announce it in a quarter of an hour’s time, if you please.”
“Yes, my lord. Her ladyship — ”
“Convey my excuses to her ladyship. I have been detained, and have not yet completed my toilet.”
The footman cast a covert look from him to Martin, and bowed himself out.
The door had hardly closed behind him before Martin exclaimed: “Do you expect me to continue to remain under the same roof as Ulverston?”
“He has told me that he finds himself obliged to leave Stanyon. I believe it will give rise to less comment if he remains until Monday, but it shall be as you wish.”