Down fell the knife on the dessert-plate, chipping a piece off its edge. The culprit was vexed. Sir Isaac smiled.
"The old action, Fred. Do you remember breaking that beautiful plate of Worcester porcelain in the same way?"
"I do: and how it vexed my mother, for it spoilt the set. They had better not put me a knife and fork; make me go without, as they do the children. I am sure to get playing with them."
"But about Mrs. Carleton? Go on with your catalogue of grievances against her."
When the mind is hovering in the balance, how a word, a tone, will turn it either way! The slight sound of amusement, apparent in Isaac's voice, was a very mockery to his listener; and he went on, hating his task more than before, almost inclined to give it up.
"For another thing, I was going to say, Isaac--I am not sure that she is sane."
"You are not sure of--what?"
"That Charlotte Carleton is quite in her sane senses."
Sir Isaac stared at his brother as though asking whether he was in his.
"Are you jesting, Frederick?"