“And pray now sir, who should know better than you?”
“Oh, heaven! Pray am I master, or am I not?”
“You are not—master, where I am! Zounds!” She flings over a chair.
“Sister, sister,” said the doctor, but the sister did not even look at him. She flew at the don as well as she could, seeing she was a wingless angel; and arrived within a quarter of an inch of his head, bade him, in the most impassioned language, depart.
“Tell me, some one, have I married her?”
“Ah, you poor man you,” said the new wife; with a sneer.
Here the don went off into a roaring, yelping, yelling rage, tearing his own clothes, dilapidating his own walls with his own head, and damaging his personal appearance with nobody’s hands but his own.
“Oh, brother, brother,” shrieked the doctor, dashing after the don, who was taking a tour of destruction all round the drawing-room to the north, while his lady was doing precisely the same thing to the south.
“Oh, will anybody tell me,” asked the don—“am I mad?”
Well, Norina in her rage worked round to where Ernesto was standing—and then she was wearing her own natural bright face, and reaching that youth she uttered this little speech. “Ah! well—Ernesto”—To which the youth answered—“Ah! dear Norina.”