"Cannot that rouse you!" she cried. "What are you become, my lord?"
"The utter folly of our discussing these matters!" he answered, smiling. "We waste our breath, madam, and I, for one, am weary of it."
The Countess caught up her father's letter.
"What have you to say to this?" she demanded.
"Nothing." He looked at his reflection in the mirror above the mantelshelf and yawned.
"What will you do to avert this ruin?" she asked, trembling.
"Still nothing." He looked at her now, over his shoulder, and the extreme handsomeness of his face was impressed on her suddenly, like an added insult.
"And about Selina Boyle, poor shadow of sentiment, you will do nothing?" she sneered. "And you will face the laughter, the comment, and still do nothing. Ah! you have no fire nor life left in you, Lord Lyndwood, you are become a worthless rake indeed."
Still she could not move him; he yawned again and thrust his hands into the embroidered pockets of his white velvet waistcoat.
"Do you think you care for her?" cried the Countess, furious. "It is a paltry pretence; if I died to-morrow you would marry another woman with money and whistle Selina Boyle down the wind."