Grindle
looked in. "He drew back at once, of course. But it was awful, Richard!
I turned cold. It seemed to give me more strength, though. I pulled
myself away and got out of the room, I don't know how. My wreath was
falling off. My dress was crumpled. Nothing would have made me go back
to the ballroom. I couldn't have faced Amelia's husband--I think I
shall never be able to face him again," and Mary's tears flowed anew.
Richard was stamping about the room, aimlessly moving things from their
places. "God Almighty! he shall answer to me for this. I'll go back and
take a horsewhip with me."
"For my sake, don't have a scene with him. It would only make matters
worse," she pleaded.
But Richard strode up and down, treading heedlessly on the flouncings of
her dress. "What?--and let him believe such behaviour can go
unpunished? That whenever it pleases him, he can insult my wife--insult
my wife? Make her the talk of the place? Brand her before the whole town
as a light woman?"
"Oh, not the whole town, Richard. I shall have to explain to
Amelia. . . and Tilly . . . and Agnes--that's all," sobbed Mary in
parenthesis.
"Yes, and I ask if it's a dignified or decent thing for you to have to
do?--to go running round assuring your friends of your virtue!" cried
Richard furiously. "Let me tell you this, my dear: at whatever door you
knock, you'll be met by disbelief. Fate played you a shabby trick when
it allowed just that low cad to put his head in.
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