Mr. Filer was now pouring forth his nature in objurgations and oaths,
and brandishing before the culprits--Verena and Ransom--the extreme
penalty of the law. Mrs. Tarrant had burst into violent hysterics, while
Selah revolved vaguely about the room and declared that it seemed as if
the better day was going to be put off for quite a while. "Don't you see
how good, how sweet they are--giving us all this time? Don't you think
that when they behave like that--without a sound, for five minutes--they
ought to be rewarded?" Verena asked, smiling divinely, at Ransom.
Nothing could have been more tender, more exquisite, than the way she
put her appeal upon the ground of simple charity, kindness to the great
good-natured, childish public.
"Miss Chancellor may reward them in any way she likes. Give them back
their money and a little present to each."
"Money and presents? I should like to shoot you, sir!" yelled Mr. Filer.
The audience had really been very patient, and up to this point deserved
Verena's praise; but it was now long past eight o'clock, and symptoms of
irritation--cries and groans and hisses--began again to proceed from the
hall. Mr. Filer launched himself into the passage leading to the stage,
and Selah rushed after him. Mrs. Tarrant extended herself, sobbing, on
the sofa, and Olive, quivering in the storm, inquired of Ransom what he
wanted her to do, what humiliation, what degradation, what sacrifice he
imposed.
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