“And so, Miss Huddlestone,” he continued slowly but savagely, “this is how you keep your faith to your father and to me? This is the value you set upon your father’s life? And you are so infatuated with this young gentleman that you must brave ruin, and decency, and common human caution—”
“Miss Huddlestone—” I was beginning to interrupt him, when he, in his turn, cut in brutally—
“You hold your tongue,” said he; “I am speaking to that girl.”
“That girl, as you call her, is my wife,” said I; and my wife only leaned a little nearer, so that I knew she had affirmed my words.
“Your what?” he cried. “You lie!”
“Northmour,” I said, “we all know you have a bad temper, and I am the last man to be irritated by words. For all that, I propose that you speak lower, for I am convinced that we are not alone.”
He looked round him, and it was plain my remark had in some degree sobered his passion. “What do you mean?” he asked.
I only said one word: “Italians.”
He swore a round oath, and looked at us, from one to the other.
“Mr. Cassilis knows all that I know,” said my wife.