“Isn’t it strange?” she murmured, still rubbing her little finger tip among the blackened jewels. “Isn’t it strange?”
The Viceroy stood immovable, while a network of purple veins began to spread across his face.
The wife’s hands rested for a moment on his shoulders, then seizing his ears, pulled him down into a chair.
“You are not angry?” she said consolingly.
The Viceroy looked up at her reproachfully.
“I know it was very wrong,” she said with contrition.
He eyed her questioningly.
“Do you think,” she frowned and her tones became threatening, “that my father did not teach me gratitude?”
“Yes, yes,” answered the Viceroy hastily. “Yes; economy is a woman’s highest virtue——”
“Economy in what?” she demanded, straightening up and looking down at him coldly.