"Excuse me, Sir Philip! I am not accustomed to be spoken to in this extraordinary manner. You forget yourself—my husband, I think, also forgets himself! I know nothing whatever about Violet Vere—I am not fond of the society of actresses. Of course, I've heard about your admiration for her—that is common town-talk,—though my informant on this point was Sir Francis Lennox."
"Sir Francis Lennox!" cried Philip furiously. "Thank God! there's a man to deal with! By Heaven, I'll choke him with his own lie!"
Lady Winsleigh raised her eyebrows in well-bred surprise.
"Dear me! It is a lie, then? Now, I should have thought from all accounts that it was so very likely to be true!"
Philip turned white with passion. Her sarcastic smile,—her mocking glance,—irritated him almost beyond endurance.
"Permit me to ask you, Clara," continued Lord Winsleigh calmly, "if you,—as you say, know nothing about Violet Vere, why did you go to the Brilliant Theatre yesterday morning?"
She flashed an angry glance at him.
"Why? To secure a box for the new performance. Is there anything wonderful in that?"
Her husband remained unmoved. "May I see the voucher for this box?" he inquired.
"I've sent it to some friends," replied her ladyship haughtily. "Since when have you decided to become an inquisitor, my lord?"