E-text prepared by Andrew Turek and revised by
Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D., and Delpine Lettau
Transcriber's note:
This novel was first published in serial form in 1868-1869,
followed by a two-volume book version in 1869. Both were
illustrated by Marcus Stone, and those illustrations can
be seen in the HTML version of this e-text. See
(https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/5140/pg5140-images.html)
or
(https://www.gutenberg.org/files/5140/5140-h.zip)
HE KNEW HE WAS RIGHT
by
ANTHONY TROLLOPE
With Illustrations by Marcus Stone
CONTENTS
I. SHEWING HOW WRATH BEGAN.
II. COLONEL OSBORNE.
III. LADY MILBOROUGH'S DINNER PARTY.
IV. HUGH STANBURY.
V. SHEWING HOW THE QUARREL PROGRESSED.
VI. SHEWING HOW RECONCILIATION WAS MADE.
VII. MISS JEMIMA STANBURY, OF EXETER.
VIII. "I KNOW IT WILL DO."
IX. SHEWING HOW THE QUARREL PROGRESSED AGAIN.
X. HARD WORDS.
XI. LADY MILBOROUGH AS AMBASSADOR.
XII. MISS STANBURY'S GENEROSITY.
XIII. THE HONOURABLE MR. GLASCOCK.
XIV. THE CLOCK HOUSE AT NUNCOMBE PUTNEY.
XV. WHAT THEY SAID ABOUT IT IN THE CLOSE.
XVI. DARTMOOR.
XVII. A GENTLEMAN COMES TO NUNCOMBE PUTNEY.
XVIII. THE STANBURY CORRESPONDENCE.
XIX. BOZZLE, THE EX-POLICEMAN.
XX. SHEWING HOW COLONEL OSBORNE WENT TO COCKCHAFFINGTON.
XXI. SHEWING HOW COLONEL OSBORNE WENT TO NUNCOMBE PUTNEY.
XXII. SHEWING HOW MISS STANBURY BEHAVED TO HER TWO NIECES.
XXIII. COLONEL OSBORNE AND MR. BOZZLE RETURN TO LONDON.
XXIV. NIDDON PARK.
XXV. HUGH STANBURY SMOKES HIS PIPE.
XXVI. A THIRD PARTY IS SO OBJECTIONABLE.
XXVII. MR. TREVELYAN'S LETTER TO HIS WIFE.
XXVIII. GREAT TRIBULATION.
XXIX. MR. AND MRS. OUTHOUSE.
XXX. DOROTHY MAKES UP HER MIND.
XXXI. MR. BROOKE BURGESS.
XXXII. THE "FULL MOON" AT ST. DIDDULPH'S.
XXXIII. HUGH STANBURY SMOKES ANOTHER PIPE.
XXXIV. PRISCILLA'S WISDOM.
XXXV. MR. GIBSON'S GOOD FORTUNE.
XXXVI. MISS STANBURY'S WRATH.
XXXVII. MONT CENIS.
XXXVIII. VERDICT OF THE JURY--"MAD, MY LORD."
XXXIX. MISS NORA ROWLEY IS MALTREATED.
XL. "C. G."
XLI. SHEWING WHAT TOOK PLACE AT ST. DIDDULPH'S.
XLII. MISS STANBURY AND MR. GIBSON BECOME TWO.
XLIII. LABURNUM COTTAGE.
XLIV. BROOKE BURGESS TAKES LEAVE OF EXETER.
XLV. TREVELYAN AT VENICE.
XLVI. THE AMERICAN MINISTER.
XLVII. ABOUT FISHING, AND NAVIGATION, AND HEAD-DRESSES.
XLVIII. MR. GIBSON IS PUNISHED.
XLIX. MR. BROOKE BURGESS AFTER SUPPER.
L. CAMILLA TRIUMPHANT.
LI. SHEWING WHAT HAPPENED DURING MISS STANBURY'S ILLNESS.
LII. MR. OUTHOUSE COMPLAINS THAT IT'S HARD.
LIII. HUGH STANBURY IS SHEWN TO BE NO CONJUROR.
LIV. MR. GIBSON'S THREAT.
LV. THE REPUBLICAN BROWNING.
LVI. WITHERED GRASS.
LVII. DOROTHY'S FATE.
LVIII. DOROTHY AT HOME.
LIX. MR. BOZZLE AT HOME.
LX. ANOTHER STRUGGLE.
LXI. PARKER'S HOTEL, MOWBRAY STREET.
LXII. LADY ROWLEY MAKES AN ATTEMPT.
LXIII. SIR MARMADUKE AT HOME.
LXIV. SIR MARMADUKE AT HIS CLUB.
LXV. MYSTERIOUS AGENCIES.
LXVI. OF A QUARTER OF LAMB.
LXVII. RIVER'S COTTAGE.
LXVIII. MAJOR MAGRUDER'S COMMITTEE.
LXIX. SIR MARMADUKE AT WILLESDEN.
LXX. SHEWING WHAT NORA ROWLEY THOUGHT ABOUT CARRIAGES.
LXXI. SHEWING WHAT HUGH STANBURY THOUGHT ABOUT THE DUTY OF MAN.
LXXII. THE DELIVERY OF THE LAMB.
LXXIII. DOROTHY RETURNS TO EXETER.
LXXIV. THE LIONESS AROUSED.
LXXV. THE ROWLEYS GO OVER THE ALPS.
LXXVI. "WE SHALL BE SO POOR."
LXXVII. THE FUTURE LADY PETERBOROUGH.
LXXVIII. CASALUNGA.
LXXIX. "I CAN SLEEP ON THE BOARDS."
LXXX. "WILL THEY DESPISE HIM?"
LXXXI. MR. GLASCOCK IS MASTER.
LXXXII. MRS. FRENCH'S CARVING KNIFE.
LXXXIII. BELLA VICTRIX.
LXXXIV. SELF-SACRIFICE.
LXXXV. THE BATHS OF LUCCA.
LXXXVI. MR. GLASCOCK AS NURSE.
LXXXVII. MR. GLASCOCK'S MARRIAGE COMPLETED.
LXXXVIII. CROPPER AND BURGESS.
LXXXIX. "I WOULDN'T DO IT, IF I WAS YOU."
XC. LADY ROWLEY CONQUERED.
XCI. FOUR O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING.
XCII. TREVELYAN DISCOURSES ON LIFE.
XCIII. "SAY THAT YOU FORGIVE ME."
XCIV. A REAL CHRISTIAN.
XCV. TREVELYAN BACK IN ENGLAND.
XCVI. MONKHAMS.
XCVII. MRS. BROOKE BURGESS.
XCVIII. ACQUITTED.
XCIX. CONCLUSION.
ILLUSTRATIONS
SHEWING HOW WRATH BEGAN. Chapter I
SHEWING HOW RECONCILIATION WAS MADE. Chapter VI
"I ONLY COME AS A MESSENGER." Chapter IX
AUNT STANBURY AT DINNER WILL NOT SPEAK. Chapter XII
TO HAVE BEEN THE MOTHER OF A FUTURE PEER! Chapter XIII
NORA TRIES TO MAKE HERSELF BELIEVE. Chapter XVI
THE WOODEN-LEGGED POSTMAN OF NUNCOMBE PUTNEY. Chapter XXI
NIDDON PARK. Chapter XXIV
THAT THIRD PERSON WAS MR. BOZZLE. Chapter XXVI
DOROTHY MAKES UP HER MIND. Chapter XXX
THE "FULL MOON" AT ST. DIDDULPH'S. Chapter XXXII
"I WONDER WHY PEOPLE MAKE THESE REPORTS." Chapter XXXV
"AM I TO GO?" Chapter XXXIX
AT ST. DIDDULPH'S. Chapter XLI
BROOKE BURGESS TAKES HIS LEAVE. Chapter XLIV
MISS STANBURY VISITS THE FRENCHES. Chapter XLVIII
THE WORLD WAS GOING ROUND WITH DOROTHY. Chapter LI
NORA'S LETTER. Chapter LIII
"BROOKE WANTS ME TO BE HIS WIFE." Chapter LVII
"PUT IT ON THE FIRE-BACK, BOZZLE." Chapter LIX
"AND WHY DOES HE COME HERE?" Chapter LXIII
"YOU HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN MAMMA?" Chapter LXVII
"BUT YOU MUST GIVE IT UP," SAID SIR MARMADUKE. Chapter LXX
"ONLY THE VAGARIES OF AN OLD WOMAN." Chapter LXXIII
THE RIVALS. Chapter LXXVI
"IT IS HARD TO SPEAK SOMETIMES." Chapter LXXIX
CAMILLA'S WRATH. Chapter LXXXII
TREVELYAN AT CASALUNGA. Chapter LXXXIV
BARTY BURGESS. Chapter LXXXVIII
"I MUST ALWAYS REMEMBER THAT I MET YOU THERE." Chapter XC
NORA'S VEIL. Chapter XCV
MONKHAMS. Chapter XCVI
CHAPTER I.
SHEWING HOW WRATH BEGAN.
[Illustration]
When Louis Trevelyan was twenty-four years old, he had all the world
before him where to choose; and, among other things, he chose to go
to the Mandarin Islands, and there fell in love with Emily Rowley,
the daughter of Sir Marmaduke, the governor. Sir Marmaduke Rowley,
at this period of his life, was a respectable middle-aged public
servant, in good repute, who had, however, as yet achieved for
himself neither an exalted position nor a large fortune. He had been
governor of many islands, and had never lacked employment; and now,
at the age of fifty, found himself at the Mandarins, with a salary
of L3,000 a year, living in a temperature at which 80 deg. in the shade
is considered to be cool, with eight daughters, and not a shilling
saved. A governor at the Mandarins who is social by nature and
hospitable on principle, cannot save money in the islands even on
L3,000 a year when he has eight daughters. And at the Mandarins,
though hospitality is a duty, the gentlemen who ate Sir Rowley's
dinners were not exactly the men whom he or Lady Rowley desired to
welcome to their bosoms as sons-in-law. Nor when Mr. Trevelyan came
that way, desirous of seeing everything in the somewhat indefinite
course of his travels, had Emily Rowley, the eldest of the flock,
then twenty years of age, seen as yet any Mandariner who exactly came
up to her fancy. And, as Louis Trevelyan was a remarkably handsome
young man, who was well connected, who had been ninth wrangler at
Cambridge, who had already published a volume of poems, and who
possessed L3,000 a year of his own, arising from various perfectly
secure investments, he was not forced to sigh long in vain. Indeed,
the Rowleys, one and all, felt that providence had been very good to
them in sending young Trevelyan on his travels in that direction, for
he seemed to be a very pearl among men. Both Sir Marmaduke and Lady
Rowley felt that there might be objections to such a marriage as that
proposed to them, raised by the Trevelyan family. Lady Rowley would
not have liked her daughter to go to England, to be received with
cold looks by strangers. But it soon appeared that there was no one
to make objections. Louis, the lover, had no living relative nearer
than cousins. His father, a barrister of repute, had died a widower,
and had left the money which he had made to an only child. The head
of the family was a first cousin who lived in Cornwall on a moderate
property,--a very good sort of stupid fellow, as Louis said, who
would be quite indifferent as to any marriage that his cousin might
make. No man could be more independent or more clearly justified in
pleasing himself than was this lover. And then he himself proposed
that the second daughter, Nora, should come and live with them in
London. What a lover to fall suddenly from the heavens into such a
dovecote!
"I haven't a penny-piece to give to either of them," said Sir Rowley.
"It is my idea that girls should not have fortunes," said Trevelyan.
"At any rate, I am quite sure that men should never look for money.
A man must be more comfortable, and, I think, is likely to be more
affectionate, when the money has belonged to himself."
Sir Rowley was a high-minded gentleman, who would have liked to have
handed over a few thousand pounds on giving up his daughters; but,
having no thousands of pounds to hand over, he could not but admire
the principles of his proposed son-in-law. As it was about time for
him to have his leave of absence, he and sundry of the girls went to
England with Mr. Trevelyan, and the wedding was celebrated in London
by the Rev. Oliphant Outhouse, of Saint Diddulph-in-the-East, who
had married Sir Rowley's sister. Then a small house was taken and
furnished in Curzon Street, Mayfair, and the Rowleys went back to the
seat of their government, leaving Nora, the second girl, in charge of
her elder sister.
The Rowleys had found, on reaching London, that they had lighted upon
a pearl indeed. Louis Trevelyan was a man of whom all people said
all good things. He might have been a fellow of his college had he
not been a man of fortune. He might already,--so Sir Rowley was
told,--have been in Parliament, had he not thought it to be wiser to
wait awhile. Indeed, he was very wise in many things. He had gone
out on his travels thus young,--not in search of excitement, to kill
beasts, or to encounter he knew not what novelty and amusement,--but
that he might see men and know the world. He had been on his travels
for more than a year when the winds blew him to the Mandarins. Oh,
how blessed were the winds! And, moreover, Sir Rowley found that his
son-in-law was well spoken of at the clubs by those who had known him
during his university career, as a man popular as well as wise, not
a book-worm, or a dry philosopher, or a prig. He could talk on all
subjects, was very generous, a man sure to be honoured and respected;
and then such a handsome, manly fellow, with short brown hair, a nose
divinely chiselled, an Apollo's mouth, six feet high, with shoulders
and legs and arms in proportion,--a pearl of pearls! Only, as Lady
Rowley was the first to find out, he liked to have his own way.
"But his way is such a good way," said Sir Marmaduke. "He will be
such a good guide for the girls!"
"But Emily likes her way too," said Lady Rowley.
Sir Marmaduke argued the matter no further, but thought, no doubt,
that such a husband as Louis Trevelyan was entitled to have his own
way. He probably had not observed his daughter's temper so accurately
as his wife had done. With eight of them coming up around him, how
should he have observed their tempers? At any rate, if there were
anything amiss with Emily's temper, it would be well that she should
find her master in such a husband as Louis Trevelyan.
For nearly two years the little household in Curzon Street went on
well, or if anything was the matter no one outside of the little
household was aware of it. And there was a baby, a boy, a young
Louis, and a baby in such a household is apt to make things go
sweetly.
The marriage had taken place in July, and after the wedding tour
there had been a winter and a spring in London; and then they passed
a month or two at the sea-side, after which the baby had been born.
And then there came another winter and another spring. Nora Rowley
was with them in London, and by this time Mr. Trevelyan had begun to
think that he should like to have his own way completely. His baby
was very nice, and his wife was clever, pretty, and attractive. Nora
was all that an unmarried sister should be. But,--but there had come
to be trouble and bitter words. Lady Rowley had been right when she
said that her daughter Emily also liked to have her own way.
"If I am suspected," said Mrs. Trevelyan to her sister one morning,
as they sat together in the little back drawing-room, "life will not
be worth having."
"How can you talk of being suspected, Emily?"
"What does he mean then by saying that he would rather not have
Colonel Osborne here? A man older than my own father, who has known
me since I was a baby!"
"He didn't mean anything of that kind, Emily. You know he did not,
and you should not say so. It would be too horrible to think of."
"It was a great deal too horrible to be spoken, I know. If he does
not beg my pardon, I shall,--I shall continue to live with him, of
course, as a sort of upper servant, because of baby. But he shall
know what I think and feel."
"If I were you I would forget it."
"How can I forget it? Nothing that I can do pleases him. He is civil
and kind to you because he is not your master; but you don't know
what things he says to me. Am I to tell Colonel Osborne not to come?
Heavens and earth! How should I ever hold up my head again if I were
driven to do that? He will be here to-day I have no doubt; and Louis
will sit there below in the library, and hear his step, and will not
come up."
"Tell Richard to say you are not at home."
"Yes; and everybody will understand why. And for what am I to deny
myself in that way to the best and oldest friend I have? If any such
orders are to be given, let him give them and then see what will come
of it."
Mrs. Trevelyan had described Colonel Osborne truly as far as words
went, in saying that he had known her since she was a baby, and that
he was an older man than her father. Colonel Osborne's age exceeded
her father's by about a month, and as he was now past fifty, he might
be considered perhaps, in that respect, to be a safe friend for a
young married woman. But he was in every respect a man very different
from Sir Marmaduke. Sir Marmaduke, blessed and at the same time
burdened as he was with a wife and eight daughters, and condemned as
he had been to pass a large portion of his life within the tropics,
had become at fifty what many people call quite a middle-aged man.
That is to say, he was one from whom the effervescence and elasticity
and salt of youth had altogether passed away. He was fat and slow,
thinking much of his wife and eight daughters, thinking much also of
his dinner. Now Colonel Osborne was a bachelor, with no burdens but
those imposed upon him by his position as a member of Parliament,--a
man of fortune to whom the world had been very easy. It was not
therefore said so decidedly of him as of Sir Marmaduke, that he
was a middle-aged man, although he had probably already lived more
than two-thirds of his life. And he was a good-looking man of his
age, bald indeed at the top of his head, and with a considerable
sprinkling of grey hair through his bushy beard; but upright in his
carriage, active, and quick in his step, who dressed well, and was
clearly determined to make the most he could of what remained to him
of the advantages of youth. Colonel Osborne was always so dressed
that no one ever observed the nature of his garments, being no doubt
well aware that no man after twenty-five can afford to call special
attention to his coat, his hat, his cravat, or his trousers; but
nevertheless the matter was one to which he paid much attention, and
he was by no means lax in ascertaining what his tailor did for him.
He always rode a pretty horse, and mounted his groom on one at any
rate as pretty. He was known to have an excellent stud down in the
shires, and had the reputation of going well with hounds. Poor Sir
Marmaduke could not have ridden a hunt to save either his government
or his credit. When, therefore, Mrs. Trevelyan declared to her sister
that Colonel Osborne was a man whom she was entitled to regard with
semi-parental feelings of veneration because he was older than her
father, she made a comparison which was more true in the letter than
in the spirit. And when she asserted that Colonel Osborne had known
her since she was a baby, she fell again into the same mistake.
Colonel Osborne had indeed known her when she was a baby, and had in
old days been the very intimate friend of her father; but of herself
he had seen little or nothing since those baby days, till he had met
her just as she was about to become Mrs. Trevelyan; and though it was
natural that so old a friend should come to her and congratulate her
and renew his friendship, nevertheless it was not true that he made
his appearance in her husband's house in the guise of the useful old
family friend, who gives silver cups to the children and kisses the
little girls for the sake of the old affection which he has borne for
the parents. We all know the appearance of that old gentleman, how
pleasant and dear a fellow he is, how welcome is his face within the
gate, how free he makes with our wine, generally abusing it, how he
tells our eldest daughter to light his candle for him, how he gave
silver cups when the girls were born, and now bestows tea-services as
they get married,--a most useful, safe, and charming fellow, not a
year younger-looking or more nimble than ourselves, without whom life
would be very blank. We all know that man; but such a man was not
Colonel Osborne in the house of Mr. Trevelyan's young bride.
Emily Rowley, when she was brought home from the Mandarin Islands
to be the wife of Louis Trevelyan, was a very handsome young woman,
tall, with a bust rather full for her age, with dark eyes--eyes that
looked to be dark because her eye-brows and eye-lashes were nearly
black, but which were in truth so varying in colour, that you could
not tell their hue. Her brown hair was very dark and very soft; and
the tint of her complexion was brown also, though the colour of her
cheeks was often so bright as to induce her enemies to say falsely of
her that she painted them. And she was very strong, as are some girls
who come from the tropics, and whom a tropical climate has suited.
She could sit on her horse the whole day long, and would never be
weary with dancing at the Government House balls. When Colonel
Osborne was introduced to her as the baby whom he had known, he
thought it would be very pleasant to be intimate with so pleasant a
friend,--meaning no harm indeed, as but few men do mean harm on such
occasions,--but still, not regarding the beautiful young woman whom
he had seen as one of a generation succeeding to that of his own, to
whom it would be his duty to make himself useful on account of the
old friendship which he bore to her father.
It was, moreover, well known in London,--though not known at all
to Mrs. Trevelyan,--that this ancient Lothario had before this
made himself troublesome in more than one family. He was fond of
intimacies with married ladies, and perhaps was not averse to the
excitement of marital hostility. It must be remembered, however, that
the hostility to which allusion is here made was not the hostility
of the pistol or the horsewhip,--nor, indeed, was it generally the
hostility of a word of spoken anger. A young husband may dislike
the too-friendly bearing of a friend, and may yet abstain from that
outrage on his own dignity and on his wife, which is conveyed by a
word of suspicion. Louis Trevelyan having taken a strong dislike to
Colonel Osborne, and having failed to make his wife understand that
this dislike should have induced her to throw cold water upon the
Colonel's friendship, had allowed himself to speak a word which
probably he would have willingly recalled as soon as spoken. But
words spoken cannot be recalled, and many a man and many a woman who
has spoken a word at once regretted, are far too proud to express
that regret. So it was with Louis Trevelyan when he told his wife
that he did not wish Colonel Osborne to come so often to his house.
He had said it with a flashing eye and an angry tone; and though she
had seen the eye flash before, and was familiar with the angry tone,
she had never before felt herself to be insulted by her husband. As
soon as the word had been spoken Trevelyan had left the room, and had
gone down among his books. But when he was alone, he knew that he
had insulted his wife. He was quite aware that he should have spoken
to her gently, and have explained to her, with his arm round her
waist, that it would be better for both of them that this friend's
friendship should be limited. There is so much in a turn of the eye
and in the tone given to a word when such things have to be said,--so
much more of importance than in the words themselves. As Trevelyan
thought of this, and remembered what his manner had been, how much
anger he had expressed, how far he had been from having his arm round
his wife's waist as he spoke to her, he almost made up his mind to
go up-stairs and to apologise. But he was one to whose nature the
giving of any apology was repulsive. He could not bear to have to own
himself to have been wrong. And then his wife had been most provoking
in her manner to him. When he had endeavoured to make her understand
his wishes by certain disparaging hints which he had thrown out as to
Colonel Osborne, saying that he was a dangerous man, one who did not
show his true character, a snake in the grass, a man without settled
principles, and such like, his wife had taken up the cudgels for her
friend, and had openly declared that she did not believe a word of
the things that were alleged against him. "But still, for all that,
it is true," the husband had said. "I have no doubt that you think
so," the wife had replied. "Men do believe evil of one another, very
often. But you must excuse me if I say that I think you are mistaken.
I have known Colonel Osborne much longer than you have done, Louis,
and papa has always had the highest opinion of him." Then Mr.
Trevelyan had become very angry, and had spoken those words which
he could not recall. As he walked to and fro among his books
down-stairs, he almost felt that he ought to beg his wife's pardon.
He knew his wife well enough to be sure that she would not forgive
him unless he did so. He would do so, he thought, but not exactly
now. A moment would come in which it might be easier than at present.
He would be able to assure her when he went up to dress for dinner,
that he had meant no harm. They were going out to dine at the house
of a lady of rank, the Countess Dowager of Milborough, a lady
standing high in the world's esteem, of whom his wife stood a little
in awe; and he calculated that this feeling, if it did not make his
task easy would yet take from it some of its difficulty. Emily would
be, not exactly cowed, by the prospect of Lady Milborough's dinner,
but perhaps a little reduced from her usual self-assertion. He would
say a word to her when he was dressing, assuring her that he had not
intended to animadvert in the slightest degree upon her own conduct.
[Illustration: Shewing how wrath began.]
Luncheon was served, and the two ladies went down into the
dining-room. Mr. Trevelyan did not appear. There was nothing in
itself singular in that, as he was accustomed to declare that
luncheon was a meal too much in the day, and that a man should eat
nothing beyond a biscuit between breakfast and dinner. But he would
sometimes come in and eat his biscuit standing on the hearth-rug,
and drink what he would call half a quarter of a glass of sherry. It
would probably have been well that he should have done so now; but
he remained in his library behind the dining-room, and when his wife
and his sister-in-law had gone up-stairs, he became anxious to learn
whether Colonel Osborne would come on that day, and, if so, whether
he would be admitted. He had been told that Nora Rowley was to be
called for by another lady, a Mrs. Fairfax, to go out and look at
pictures. His wife had declined to join Mrs. Fairfax's party, having
declared that, as she was going to dine out, she would not leave
her baby all the afternoon. Louis Trevelyan, though he strove to
apply his mind to an article which he was writing for a scientific
quarterly review, could not keep himself from anxiety as to this
expected visit from Colonel Osborne. He was not in the least jealous.
He swore to himself fifty times over that any such feeling on his
part would be a monstrous injury to his wife. Nevertheless he knew
that he would be gratified if on that special day Colonel Osborne
should be informed that his wife was not at home. Whether the man
were admitted or not, he would beg his wife's pardon; but he could,
he thought, do so with more thorough efficacy and affection if she
should have shown a disposition to comply with his wishes on this
day.
"Do say a word to Richard," said Nora to her sister in a whisper as
they were going up-stairs after luncheon.
"I will not," said Mrs. Trevelyan.
"May I do it?"
"Certainly not, Nora. I should feel that I were demeaning myself were
I to allow what was said to me in such a manner to have any effect
upon me."
"I think you are so wrong, Emily. I do indeed."
"You must allow me to be the best judge what to do in my own house,
and with my own husband."
"Oh, yes; certainly."
"If he gives me any command I will obey it. Or if he had expressed
his wish in any other words I would have complied. But to be told
that he would rather not have Colonel Osborne here! If you had seen
his manner and heard his words, you would not have been surprised
that I should feel it as I do. It was a gross insult,--and it was not
the first."
As she spoke the fire flashed from her eye, and the bright red colour
of her cheek told a tale of her anger which her sister well knew how
to read. Then there was a knock at the door, and they both knew that
Colonel Osborne was there. Louis Trevelyan, sitting in his library,
also knew of whose coming that knock gave notice.