"I am sorry that you should smile," she answered hotly, "to think what this woman you have married has brought on those you care for."
He straightened himself, and flung back the pink domino.
"What do you—what does she—want me to do?"
Susannah could not say; it did not seem to her that it mattered what he did, so long as it was of his own conception, decisive, swift, carried to a conclusion; of all things this was the last she desired, that he should ask her what his action was to be. Could not his love for Selina (a thing in which she could not remotely meddle) guide him? She pressed her hand to her brow, looked on the floor and was silent.
"Here is a woman's coil of gossip and slander!" cried my lord, and his tone was slightly mocking. "Neither you nor I can straighten it out, my dear"—he looked at her languidly; "take no heed of it, 'twill, by Gad, hurt no one."
But his eyes, dark and fiery, belied his speech and encouraged her to endeavour to penetrate the guard of his indifferent manner.
"You have no right to take this action of Lavinia's with a smile," she said.
"Have you any proof of it?" he asked curiously.
Susannah gave a short laugh.
"None, I know."