He laughed—actually laughed.
“You can carry things off with an air. I thought you could, by the way you treated that chap who tried to spoon you—in the middle of the stalls. He had a nerve. It was as good as a play to watch him. Not that I blame him for wanting to spoon you—there isn’t a man living who wouldn’t draw a blank cheque for the chance of doing it. You little sweet!”
I hurled back the hand, which again came out towards me, with a degree of force which I imagine rather shook his ancient frame.
“Be so good as to stop the carriage, and at once get out!”
“Get out?”
“Certainly, sir—get out!”
“Get out of my own carriage?”
“Your own carriage?” A wild thought rushed through my mind. Was it possible that that lovely lady could have been playing me a trick? I had heard of the deceitfulness of women—and seen, alas! too much; there was a good deal of deceit practised in the bosom of my own family, but that would be to surpass all bounds. It was incredible. Such double dealing could not be! “It’s not your carriage. It’s the brown man’s sister’s!”
“The brown man’s sister’s? And who is the brown man’s sister? For the matter of that, who’s the brown man?”
“I don’t know her name—I don’t know either of their names—but it’s hers. I know it’s hers—she told me it was hers!”