Martha drew herself up in modest alarm. "Sir," she said, "I don't know where my husband is at this moment; but if what you have to say can't be said whether he is present or not, then I don't wish to hear it at all."
"I beg your pardon," stammered Eustace hastily. "You misunderstood me. It is about him that I wished to speak. I—I merely wanted to say that you have my sincerest sympathy, and that I am ready to do all I can to help you redress your wrongs."
"Your sympathy? Help me redress my wrongs?" she exclaimed, divided between astonishment and perturbation. "What do you mean?"
"Madam," he replied with knightly gallantry, "I respect you for endeavoring to shield your husband. But my admiration for you only makes me regret the more his—er—his neglect of you."
"My husband neglect me!" Ruffling up still more, she glanced for reassurance at her eggs.
"I refer—since you compel me to speak bluntly—to his attentions to other females."
"Sir, you forget yourself! How dare you say such things to me!" She burst into tears.
Eustace was taken aback. "Why, really, I...."
"The best husband in all the barnyard!" she sobbed, wiping her eyes on a leaf. "So loving to me every time I see him!" Then, in a sudden cackle of rage, she cried, "Leave me, miscreant! With all your guile, you will never be able to alienate my affections from him!"
That was enough for Eustace. He went.