“Good-by, Mr. Heigham, good-by,” said George, with angry sarcasm. “Within twenty-four hours you have killed my favourite dog, taken offence at my well-meant advice, and ridiculed my misfortune. If we should ever meet again, doubtless you will have further surprises in store for me;” and, without giving Arthur time to make any reply, he left the room.
CHAPTER XXI.
Early on the day following Arthur’s departure from Isleworth, Lady Bellamy received a note from George requesting her, if convenient, to come and see him that morning, as he had something rather important to talk to her about.
“John,” she said to her husband at breakfast, “do you want the brougham this morning?”
“No. Why?”
“Because I am going over to Isleworth.”
“Hadn’t you better take the luggage-cart too, and your luggage in it, and live there altogether? It would save trouble, sending backwards and forwards,” suggested her husband, with severe sarcasm.
Lady Bellamy cut the top off an egg with a single clean stroke—all her movements were decisive—before she answered.
“I thought,” she said, “that we had done with that sort of nonsense some years ago; are you going to begin it again?”
“Yes, Lady Bellamy, I am. I am not going to stand being bullied and jeered at by that damned scoundrel Caresfoot any more. I am not going to stand your eternal visits to him.”