“Well, in the first place,” drawled he, showing displeasure at her tone, “get up and dress yourself. I’ll tell you what I want afterwards.”
“Dress myself! There’s not much chance of that, with such rags as are left me!”
“Never mind the rags. We can’t help it just now. Besides, love, you look well enough for anything.”
Fan tossed her head, as if she cared little for the compliment.
“Arrange the rags, as you call ’em, best way you can for to-night. To-morrow, it will be different. We shall take a stroll among the milliners and mantua-makers. Now, girl, go; do as I tell you!”
So encouraged, she rose from the couch, and turned towards the stairway that conducted to her sleeping apartment.
She commenced ascending.
“Put on your best looks, Fan!” said her husband, calling after her. “I expect a gentleman, who’s a stranger to you; and I don’t wish him to think I’ve married a slut. Make haste, and get down again. He may be in at any moment.”
There was no response to show that the rude speech had given offence. Only a laugh, sent back from the stair-landing.
Swinton resumed his cigar, and sat waiting.