Mr. Andinnian bit his lips almost to bleeding. His face was frightful in its anger. Rose shivered a little.
"I am sorry I told you, Mr. Andinnian."
"Now listen, Rose. If ever this Martin Scott does the like again, I'll shoot him."
"Oh, Mr. Andinnian!"
"I shall warn him. In the most unmistakable words; words that he cannot misconstrue; I will warn him of what I mean to do. Let him disregard it at his peril; if he does, I'll shoot him as I would shoot a dog."
The very ferocity of the threat, its extreme nature, disarmed Miss Turner's belief in it. She smiled up in the speaker's face and shook her head, but was content to let the subject pass away in silence. Adam Andinnian, totally forgetting his mother's message, began talking of pleasanter things.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Andinnian's patience was growing exhausted: she hated to keep other people's servants waiting her pleasure. Her fingers were on the bell to ring for Hewitt, when Karl entered the room, some sealed letters in his hand. A slender man of seven-and-twenty, slightly above the middle height, with pale, clearly-cut features and a remarkably nice expression of countenance. He had the deeply-set, beautiful grey eyes of his brother; but his hair, instead of being black and straight, was brown and wavy. An attractive looking man, this Karl Andinnian.
"I am going out to post these letters," said Karl. "Can I do anything for you in the town, mother?"
The voice was attractive too. Low-toned, clear, melodious, full of truth: a voice to be trusted all over the world. Adam's voice was inclined to be harsh, and he had rather a loud way of speaking.
"Nothing in the town," replied Mrs. Andinnian: and, now that you notice it, her voice was harsh too. "But you can go and ask your brother why he keeps me waiting. He is behind the shrubbery."