Mr. Wainbridge jumped up. Launa grew scarlet—bright, flaming red, up, up, into her hair. Mrs. Herbert was mad with anger; she wanted a whip, to hear it lashed, to make a noise with it, and hurt somebody. She clenched her hands violently.
“Miss Archer has just promised to be my wife,” said Mr. Wainbridge, “and she would prefer you left us. As for me, I hope you will never come into her house again; you certainly never shall enter mine.”
He rang the bell.
“Bah!” said Mrs. Herbert. “Virtue is not always triumphant. You made him love you—you took him from me!”
“Open the door for Mrs. Herbert,” said Mr. Wainbridge to the maid.
Mrs. Herbert rose.
“Your announcement is rather late. You may as well marry her—now.”
“What does she mean?” asked Launa, in a bewildered way. She had risen and stood in front of Mr. Wainbridge, her eyes on his face. “Do they say things about me? Do they?”
He did not answer her question. He had nothing to say.
Launa heard a step and turned round quickly to see if Mrs. Herbert were returning.