Mrs Rimbolt little guessed how much she herself was doing to defeat her own ends.
“Mr Jeffreys,” said she, after Raby had gone, “after our interview last week, your conduct is both disgraceful and dishonourable. I should not have believed it even of you.”
“Pardon me, madam. You have charged me with telling you a lie just now. Is that so?”
His tone was strangely peremptory. Mrs Rimbolt had never seen him like this before—and for the moment it disconcerted her.
“What I heard as I entered the room had no reference to Percy,” said she.
“Excuse me—it had. Miss Atherton—”
“If it had, I must believe you. I wish to hear no more about it. But after your promise last week—”
“I made no promise, and should decline to do so. I am quite aware of my position here, and am ready to give it up when called upon. But while I stay here and do my work, Mrs Rimbolt, I claim to be protected from insult.”
“It is useless to prolong this interview, Mr Jeffreys,” said Mrs Rimbolt, half-scared by the turn things had taken. “I never expected to be addressed in this way in my own house by one who is dependent on my husband for his living. You can leave me, sir.”
Jeffreys bowed, and retired to his room, where he awaited as calmly as he could what appeared to him the inevitable end of the scene—a notice to quit.