The men will hear you."
"I told him if he ever came again I'd have him put out."
"Well, he never has come again."
"What d'you mean by speakin' to him? What d'you mean by it?"
Lady Holme knew that her husband was a thoroughly conventional man, and,
like all conventional men, had a horror of a public scene in which any
woman belonging to him was mixed up. Such a scene alone was quite enough
to rouse his wrath. But there was in his present anger something deeper,
more brutal, than any rage caused by a breach of the conventions. His
jealousy was stirred.
"He didn't speak to you. You spoke to him."
Lady Holme did not deny it.
"I heard every word you said," continued Lord Holme, beginning to breathe
hard again. "I--I--"
Lady Holme felt that he was longing to strike her, that if he had been
the same man, but a collier or a labourer, born in another class of life,
he would not have hesitated to beat her. The tradition in which he had
been brought up controlled him. But she knew that if he could have beaten
her he would have hated her less, that his sense of bitter wrong would
have at once diminished. In self-control it grew. The spark rose to a
flame.
"You're a damned shameful woman!" he said.
The brougham drew up softly before their house. Lord Holme, who was
seated on the side next the house, got out first. He did not wait on the
pavement to assist his wife, but walked up the steps, opened the door,
and went into the hall.
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