"You have married me, you say. You shall be a happy wife. You cannot imagine how happy you will be."
In a contest of tongues the woman has the best of it.
"So long as you, my lord, enjoy the same happiness, or even greater, I shall not repine. You intended my happiness in another way."
"You have destroyed my last chance. It is a good beginning."
"A better ending, my lord. The fond mistress whom you have fooled so long becomes the wife. It is not the duty of a wife to provide for her husband. Nor will the Countess of Fylingdale allow the Earl to enter her house. She will want the proceeds of her bank for herself. In a word, my lord, you are not only my husband, but you are now privileged to provide for yourself."
He sprang to his feet and fell to common and violent cursing, invoking the immediate and miraculous intervention of that Power which he had all his life insulted and defied. The lady received the torrent without a word; what can one say in reply to a man who only curses? But she was afraid of him; his words were like blows; the headlong rage of the man cowed her; she bent her head and covered her face with her hands.
Then Mr. Purdon ventured to interfere. "Let me speak," he said. "The thing is done. It cannot be undone. Would it not be better to make the best of it? Does it help any of us—does it help your lordship—to revile and to threaten?"
The bridegroom turned upon him savagely. "You to speak!" he said. "You, who are too mealy mouthed and too virtuous even to tear up a page from a register."
"I do not wish to be unfrocked, or to be sent to the plantations, my lord. Meantime, it would be doing you the worst service in the world if I were to tear out that page."
"Oh! you talk—you always talk."