"Even, Peter—even though she be a—virago, this Lady Sophia—or a termagant—"
"I was a great fool in those days," said I, hanging my head, "and very young!"
"It was only six months ago, Peter."
"But I am years older today, sir."
"And the husband of the most glorious woman—the most—oh, curse me,
Peter, if you deserve such a goddess!"
"And—she worked for me!" said I; "cooked and served and mended my clothes—where are they?" I cried, and sprang out of bed.
"What the deuce—" began Sir Richard.
"My clothes," said I, looking vainly about; "my clothes—pray, Sir
Richard, where are they?"
"Burnt, Peter."
"Burnt?"