"Meaning the housekeeper, the driver of the taxicab, and the housemaid at Feldisham Mansions?" said Hylda coolly, and quite ignoring Rosalind's outburst.
"At least those," admitted Winter.
"Are there others, then?"
"Really, Miss Prout, this is most irregular. We are not trying Mr. Osborne in this room."
"I see there is nothing for it but to carry my plea for justice to the Home Secretary," cried Rosalind, acting as she thought best in obedience to a lightning glance from Furneaux. "Come, mother, we shall soon prove to these legal-minded persons that they cannot juggle away a man's liberty to gratify their pride—and spite."
Hylda's eyes took fire at that last word.
"Go to your Home Secretary," she said with measured venom. "Much good may it do you! While you are being dismissed with platitudes I shall have rescued my affianced husband from jail."
"Dear me! this is most embarrassing. Your affianced husband?"
Furneaux cackled out each sentence, and looked alternately at Hylda and Rosalind. There was no mistaking his meaning. He implied that the one woman was callously appropriating a man who was the acknowledged suitor of the other.
Hylda laughed shrilly.