"Well, this is certainly pleasant," thought Mrs. Courtney. "What a prize I have drawn in the great matrimonial lottery, to be sure. Ugh! I declare he looks like a ghoul—a death's head—an ogre—a—I don't know what, as he sits there, glaring at me in that hideous way. That man will be the death of me yet, I'm sure. Positively I must have committed some awful crime, some time or other, to be punished with such a husband. His mouth looks as if it had been shut, and bolted, and locked, and the key forever lost. I wonder if he could open it. I'll see."
"Mr. Courtney," she said, facing round.
An inarticulate "Well?" came growlingly forth from the compressed mouth.
"Look pleasant, can't you? I declare, the very sight of you is enough to make one's blood run cold."
"You would rather look at the gallant Captain Campbell, perhaps!" he said, with an evil sneer.
"Yes, I would then—there! You don't see him wearing such a diabolical, savage, cut-throat look as you do. I wish to mercy you'd take him for a model, and not make such a fright of yourself, I'm positively ashamed to present you as my husband, of late—you have got to be such a hideous-looking creature!"
He glanced at her, without speaking, until a circle of white flamed around his eyes. And now that Laura's by no means angelic temper was roused, there is no telling what she would not have said, had not Mrs. Brantwell's voice been heard at that moment at the head of the stairs, calling:
"Mrs. Courtney—Mrs. Courtney, I want you a moment."
Mrs. Courtney hastened from the room, and Mr. Courtney was left alone with his evil passions.
As she rose from her seat, his eye fell on something like a note under her chair. Like a tiger pouncing on his prey, he sprang upon it, seized it, opened it, read it, and crushed it convulsively in his hand.