As she passed through the hall she saw the drawing-room door ajar, and heard voices. She tip-toed to the door and peeped cautiously in.
Lancelot Darling was there, his handsome head bowed over the couch where Ada half reclined, listening to a poem which Lancelot was reading aloud. They looked cozy, comfortable, and supremely contented to the jealous eyes that glared steadily upon them.
She made no sign, however, but went on to her room, with a tempest in her heart which, however, did not prevent her from subsequently descending to the drawing-room, where she set herself to work by every beguiling art of which she was mistress, to wile away the unconscious young man from the side of the beautiful Ada.
[CHAPTER XVIII.]
Haidee Leveret had scarcely returned from locking the door after her despairing visitor when she was confronted by her husband.
Old Peter's eyes snapped viciously, his hideous old face was flushed crimson, and his shock of bristly red hair stood erect with indignation.
"Now, then, madam," said he, with a snort of rage, "I have caught you at your sly tricks, have I?"
"What is the matter with you, old man?" inquired his spouse, affecting serene unconsciousness.
"Oh, you may well ask!" snapped her liege lord. "You haven't been and gone and discovered a mine of wealth and worked it yourself in secret, denying your poor honest old husband a share in the profits—oh, no, you have not!"