Richmond stood watching her in silence a moment, and the look of marked displeasure again settled on his face.
"Well, really, this is pleasant!" he said, slowly. "You can act the part of the termagant to the life, Mistress Georgia. I expected, and I believe so did all the rest, to see you knock my mother down a little while ago; that, I presume, will be the next exhibition. You have made out a long list of complaints against me during the past; take care that I do not turn the tables and accuse you of something worse than being a virago, my lady."
"Oh, I shall not be surprised. Say and do what you please; nothing will astonish me now. Oh, that it were not a crime to die!" she cried, passionately wringing her hands.
"Well, madam, you do not believe in hell, you know," he said, with a sneer, "so what does it matter?"
"Two months ago I did not, Richmond; now I know of it."
The frown deepened on his brow.
"What do you mean by that, Mrs. Wildair?" he said, hotly.
"Nothing," she replied, with a cold smile.
"Have a care, my lady; your taunts may be carried too far. It ill becomes you to take the offensive after what has passed this afternoon."
"After what has passed! By that you mean, I suppose, my preventing your mother from making the servants turn my best, my dearest friend, into the street like a dog," she said, stopping in her walk and facing him.