"If there are, I don't know them, and certainly do not wish to discuss them. The misdemeanors of the world do not concern me; it is with you alone I have to deal. Ever since Gore entered the house you have shown an open and most undignified desire for his society. I bore it all in silence, neither thwarting you nor exhibiting my displeasure in any way; but when I see you casting aside common prudence, and making yourself a subject for scandalous remarks, I think it is high time for me to interfere and assert my authority. Were you several years younger than you are, you are still quite old enough to know right from wrong; and for the future"--here he stops short close beside me, and, with his blue eyes flashing, goes on, "for the future, I insist on your conducting yourself as my wife should." When a man is without his coat and waistcoat, and thinks himself ill-used, he generally looks more than his actual height. Marmaduke, standing before me with uplifted hand to enforce his remarks, and with a very white face, certainly appears uncomfortably tall. He is towering over poor little me, in my heelless shoes and white gown, and for a moment it occurs to me that I ought to feel frightened; the next instant anger has overpowered me, and raised me to his level. "How _dare_ you speak to me like that? By what right do _you_ use such language? You who every hour of the day make yourself conspicuous with that horrible cousin of yours? Do you suppose, then, that I have no eyes? that I cannot fathom motives, and actions, and---`" "What do you mean?" interrupts he, haughtily. "That sounds very well; but if, when you accused me of flirting with Mark Gore, _I_ had drawn myself up, and asked, in an injured tone, 'what you meant,' you would very soon have told me I knew only too well. Have I not noticed you with Blanche? Do you ever leave her side? Whispering in corridors--lingering in conservatories--letting her write you letters! Oh, I know _everything!_" cry I, absolutely sobbing with long pent-up rage and grief. "Write me letters!" repeats 'Duke, in utter bewilderment. "Yes; long, _long_ letters. I saw it." "Blanche never in her life wrote me a long letter, or any other letter, that I can recollect." "_Oh!_ When I saw it with my own eyes, and only yesterday, too! How can you deny it? In the morning she pretended she had a headache, and I went up to ask her how she was, and there on the table was a pink note, with three of the pages closely written over, and while I stayed she folded it into a cocked hat; and when I came home in the evening I went into your room---_this_ room--for some eau-de-Cologne, and it was lying _there_ on the table under my _nose_," I wind up, with passionate vulgarity.