"Sir Philip--Sir Philip!" cried Neville anxiously, hastening after him. "Think for a moment; don't do anything rash!" Philip wrung his hand convulsively. "Rash! My good fellow, it's a woman who has slandered me--what can I do? Her sex protects her!" He gave a short, furious laugh. "But--by God!--were she a man I'd shoot her dead!"
And with these words, and his eyes blazing with wrath, he left the room. Neville and Britta confronted each other in vague alarm.
"Where will he go?" half whispered Britta.
"To Winsleigh House, I suppose," answered Neville in the same low tone.
Just then the hall door shut with a loud bang, that echoed through the silent house.
"He's gone!" and as Neville said this he sighed and looked dubiously at his companion. "How do you know all this about Lady Winsleigh, Britta? It may not be true--it's only servants' gossip."
"Only servants' gossip!" exclaimed Britta. "And is that nothing? Why, in these grand houses like Lord Winsleigh's, the servants know everything! Briggs makes it his business to listen at the doors--he says it's a part of his duty. And Louise opens all her mistress's letters--she says she owes it to her own respectability to know what sort of a lady it is she serves. And she's going to leave, because she says her ladyship isn't respectable! There! what do you think of that! And Sir Philip will find out a great deal more than even I have told him--but oh! I can't understand about that actress!" And she shook her head despairingly.
"Britta," said Neville suddenly, "That actress is my wife!"
Britta started,--and her round eyes opened wide.
"Your wife, Mr. Neville?" she exclaimed.
Neville took off his spectacles and polished them nervously.
"Yes, Britta--my wife!"
She looked at him in amazed silence. Neville went on rubbing his glasses, and continued in rather dreamy, tremulous accents-"Yes--I lost her years ago--I thought she was dead. But I found her--on the stage of the Brilliant Theatre. I--I never expected--that! I would rather she had died!" He paused and went on softly, "When I married her, Britta, she was such a dear little girl,--so bright and pretty!--and I--I fancied she was fond of me! Yes, I did,--of course, I was foolish--I've always been foolish, I think. And when--when I saw her on that stage I felt as if some one had struck me a hard blow--it seems as if I'd been stunned ever since. And though she knows I'm in London, she won't see me, Britta,--she won't let me speak to her even for a moment! It's very hard! Sir Philip has tried his best to persuade her to see me--he has talked to her and written to her about me; and that's not all,--he has even tried to make her come back to me--but it's all no use--and--and that's how all the mischief has arisen--do you see?"