"You have," acquiesced her senior.
"And I connect your extraordinary intrusion here, with it."
Lady Alice nodded.
"I do, and—and I'm right. You mean to insult me. It is a shame—an outrage. What do you mean, madam?"
"I'd have you to remember, Jane Chetwynd (the altercation obliterated her newly-acquired name of Lennox), that I am your relation and your senior."
"Yes, you're my cousin, and my senior by fifty years; but an old woman may be very impertinent to a young one."
"Compose yourself, if you please, compose yourself," said Lady Alice, in the same philosophic vein, but with colour a little heightened.
"I don't know what you mean—you're a disgraceful old woman. I'll complain to my husband, and I'll tell Sir Jekyl Marlowe. Either you or I must leave this house to-night," declaimed Lady Jane, with a most beautiful blush, and eyes flashing lurid lightnings.
"You forget yourself, my dear," said the old lady, rising grimly and confronting her.
"No, I don't, but you do. It's perfectly disgusting and intolerable," cried Lady Jane, with a stamp.