She comes forward in a wild, tempestuous fashion, her eyes afire, her nostrils dilated! Her beautiful red hair seems alight as she descends upon Lady Rylton.
"And that marriage!" says she, in a suffocating tone.

"Who made it?
_Who ?"_ She looks like a fury.

There is hatred, an almost murderous hatred, in the glance she casts at the little, languid, pretty woman before her, who looks back at her with uplifted shoulders, and an all-round air of surprise and disapprobation.

_"You_ to taunt me!" says she, in a low, condensed tone.

_"You_, who hurried, who _forced_ me into a marriage with a man I detested! You, who gave me to understand, when I resisted, that I had no place on this big earth except a pauper's place--a place in a workhouse!" She stands tall, grave, magnificent, in her fury before Lady Rylton, who, in spite of the courage born of want of feeling, now shrinks from her as if affrighted.
"If you persist in going on like this," says she, pressing her smelling-bottle to her nose, "I must ask you to go away--to go at once.