“That is enough, Lord Balnillo,” cried Madam Flemington, rising.
“Sit, madam, sit. Do not disturb yourself! Understand me, that I will allow every leniency. I will make every excuse! I will dwell, not on the fact that he was a spy, but on his enviable relationship to yourself.”
She stood in the middle of the room, threatening him with her eyes. Some people tremble when roused to the pitch of anger that she had reached; some gesticulate; Christian was still.
He had risen too.
“If you suppose that I could connect myself with a disloyal house you are much mistaken,” she said, controlling herself with an effort. “I have no quarrel with your name, Lord Balnillo; it is old enough. My quarrel is with the treason in which it has been dipped. But I am very well content with my own. Since I have borne it, I have kept it clean from any taint of rebellion.”
“But I have been a peaceful man,” he protested. “As I told you, the law has been my profession. I have raised a hand against no one.”
“Do you think I do not know you?” exclaimed she. “Do you suppose that my ears were shut in the winter, and that I heard nothing in all the months I spent in Edinburgh? What of that, Lord Balnillo?”
“You made no objection to me then, ma’am. I was made happy by being of service to you.”
She laughed scornfully.
“Let us be done with this,” she said. “You have offered yourself to me and I refuse the offer. I will add my thanks.”