"I thought there might be, and asked Pepps. I've just asked him now; and he's says there's nothing the matter with it."
"I wish there were!" said Maude.
"You wish there were! That's a pretty wish for a reasonable Christian," cried the tart dowager. "You want your husband to lecture you; saying such things."
"I wish he were hanged!" cried Maude, showing her glistening teeth.
"My gracious!" exclaimed the wondering old lady, after a pause. "What has he done?"
"Why did you urge me to marry him? Oh, mother, can't you see that I am dying—dying of horror—and shame—and grief? You had better have buried me instead."
For once in her selfish and vulgar mind the countess-dowager felt a feeling akin to fear. In her astonishment she thought Maude must be going mad.
"You'd do well to get some sleep, dear," she said in a subdued tone; "and to-morrow you must get up; Pepps says so; he thinks you want rousing."
"I have not slept since; it's not sleep, it's a dead stupor, in which I dream things as horrible as the reality," murmured Maude, unconscious perhaps that she spoke aloud. "I shall never sleep again."
"Not slept since when?"