I cannot, indeed!" She still looked straight at him,--her bosom rose and fell rapidly with her passionate breath, and there was such an eloquent breath of scorn in her face that he winced under it as though struck by a sharp scourge.
"You are not worth my anger!" she said slowly, this time without a tremor in her rich voice.

"One must have something to be angry with, and you--you are nothing! Neither man nor beast,--for men are brave, and beasts tell no lies! Your wife! I!" and she laughed aloud,--then with a gesture of command, "Go!" she exclaimed, "and never let me see your face again!" The clear scornful laughter,--the air of absolute authority with which she spoke,--would have stung the most self-opinionated of men, even though his conscience were enveloped in a moral leather casing of hypocrisy and arrogance.

And, notwithstanding his invariable air of mildness, Mr.Dyceworthy had a temper.

That temper rose to a white heat just now,--every drop of blood receded from his countenance,--and his soft hands clenched themselves in a particularly ugly and threatening manner.

Yet he managed to preserve his suave composure.
"Alas, alas!" he murmured.