He was in riding dress and was breathless and livid with anger.

He was in a nice mood to confront a wife on the verge of screaming hysterics.

After a bad half hour with his steward, who had been talking of impending disasters, he had heard by chance of Wilson's conflagration and the hundred-pound cheque.

He had galloped home at the top of his horse's speed.
"Here is your wife raving mad," cried out his mother.
Rosalie staggered across the room to him.

She held up her hand clenching the letter and shook it at him.
"My mother and father have been here," she shrieked.