“Shall I ring the bell for your carriage, my dear?” said the husband.
“If you please. You go with me, my dear?” said the wife.
“I do not know where you are going, my love.”
“To Mrs. Nettleby’s of course,—and you?”
“To Mrs. Granby’s.”
The lightning flashed from Griselda’s eyes, ere he had half pronounced the words. The lightning flashed without effect.
“To Mrs. Granby’s!” cried she, in a thundering tone. “To Mrs. Granby’s!” echoed he. She fell back on the sofa, and a shower of tears ensued. Her husband walked up and down the room, rang again for the carriage, ordered it in the tone of a master. Then hummed a tune. The fair one sobbed: he continued to sing, but was out in the time. The lady’s sobs grew alarming, and threatened hysterics. He threw open the window, and approached the sofa on which she lay. She, half recovering, unclasped one bracelet; in haste to get the other off, he broke it. The footman came in to announce that the carriage was at the door. She relapsed, and seemed in danger of suffocation from her pearl necklace, which she made a faint effort to loosen from her neck.
“Send your lady’s woman instantly,” cried Griselda’s husband to the footman.
Our heroine made another attempt to untie her necklace, and looked up towards her husband with supplicating eyes. His hands trembled; he entangled the strings. It would have been all over with him if the maid had not at this instant come to his assistance. To her he resigned his perilous post; retreated precipitately; and before the enemy’s forces could rally, gained his carriage, and carried his point.
“To Mr. Granby’s!” cried he, triumphantly. Arrived there, he hurried to Mr. Granby’s room.