"My dear Sir Victor," with a little pout, "don't be unreasonable. I should have something to do, if I put you au courant of all my acquaintances. I knew Mr. Catheron—slightly," with a gasp. "Is there any crime in that?"
"Yes!" Sir Victor answers, in a voice that makes his wife jump and his son cry. "Yes—there is. I wouldn't own a dog—if Juan Catheron had owned him before me. To look at him, is pollution enough—to know him—disgrace!"
"Victor! Disgrace!"
"Disgrace, Ethel! He is one of the vilest, most profligate, most lost wretches that ever disgraced a good name. Ethel, I command you to tell me—was this man ever anything to you—friend—lover—what?"
"And if he has been—what then?" She rises and faces him proudly. "Am
I to answer for his sins?"
"Yes—we all must answer more or less for those who are our friends. How come you to have his picture? What has he been to you? Not your lover—for Heaven's sake, Ethel, never that!"
"And why not? Mind!" she says, still facing him, her blue eyes aglitter, "I don't say that he was, but if he was—what then?"
"What then?" He is white to the lips with jealous rage and fear. "This then—you should never again be wife of mine!"
"Victor!" she puts out her hands as if to ward off a blow, "don't say that—oh, don't say that! And—and it isn't true—he never was a lover of mine—never, never!"
She bursts out with the denial in passionate fear and trembling. In all her wedded life she has never seen him look, heard him speak like this, though she has seen him jealous—needlessly—often.