"And why it is, sir, that I do insist on your explaining your broken phrase of the other evening."
Monsieur Varbarriere in his deep oak frame stood up tall, portly, and erect. A narrow window, with stained heraldic emblazonry, was partly behind him, and the light from above fell askance on one side of his massive countenance, throwing such dark downward bars of shadow on his face, that Lady Alice could not tell whether he was scowling or smiling, or whether the effect was an illusion.
"What phrase, pray, does your ladyship allude to?" he inquired.
"You spoke of my boy—my poor Guy—as if you knew more of him than you cared to speak—as if you were on the point of disclosing, and suddenly recollected yourself," replied Lady Alice.
"You mean when I had the honour to converse with you the night before last in the drawing-room," said he, a little brusquely, observing that the old lady was becoming vehemently excited.
"Yes; when you left me under the impression that you thought my son still living," half screamed Lady Alice, like a woman in a fury.
"Bah!" thundered the sneering diapason of Monsieur Varbarriere, whose good manners totally forsook him in his angry impatience, and his broad foot on the floor enforced his emphasis with a stamp.
"What do you mean, you foreign masquerader, whom nobody knows? What can it be? Sir, you have half distracted me. I've heard of people getting into houses—I've heard of magicians—I've heard of the devil—I have heard of charlatans, sir. I'd like to know what right, if you know nothing of my dear son, you have to torture me with doubts—"
"Doubts!" repeated Varbarriere, if less angrily, even more contemptuously. "Pish!"
"You may say pish, sir, or any rudeness you please; but depend upon this, if you do know anything of any kind, about my darling son, I'll have it from you if there be either laws or men in England," shrieked Lady Alice.