“Oh, I forgot,” she said, insolently. “Well, you can say what you want to through the keyhole. I shall hear you well enough.”
“Do you want all the servants to hear what I have to say?”
“I haven’t the slightest objection, if you haven’t,” said Mrs. Elles, airily.
“You’re quite shameless, then?”
“Perhaps, Aunt, you had better take care what you say, for your own sake.”
“For my own sake, says she! Jane Poynder has nought to be ashamed of. But I should have thought, after what I saw last night with my own eyes——”
“Through the keyhole?” interrupted her niece impertinently.
“Through the window, woman!—the window of the hotel where you were living with——”
“Hush, Aunt,” Mrs. Elles interrupted again—this time really for the sake of the servants and common decency. And then there was nothing fine, dramatic or romantic about this discussion; it sickened her. Not so should a husband accuse his wife of infidelity: through the mouth of a vulgar, foul-mouthed beldam. How different from Hero’s “Let me but know of what man I am accused”! Still it behooved her to listen and learn, if she could, from Aunt Poynder the precise terms of the indictment against her.
“And I saw you in his arms,” continued the old lady, “and the girl Jane Anne saw you walking hand in hand out in the public street! Don’t attempt to deny it!”