"Who told you that about Osborne?" said he, facing round upon her,
and frightening her with his sudden sternness of voice and manner.
It seemed as if absolute fire came out of his long dark sombre eyes.
"_Who_ told you, I say?"
She made a faint rally back into her former playfulness.
"Why? can you deny it? Is it not the truth?"
"I ask you again, Hyacinth, who told you that Osborne Hamley's life
is in more danger than mine--or yours?"
"Oh, don't speak in that frightening way. My life is not in danger,
I'm sure; nor yours either, love, I hope."
He gave an impatient movement, and knocked a wine-glass off the
table. For the moment she felt grateful for the diversion, and
busied herself in picking up the fragments: "bits of glass were so
dangerous," she said. But she was startled by a voice of command,
such as she had never yet heard from her husband.
"Never mind the glass. I ask you again, Hyacinth, who told you
anything about Osborne Hamley's state of health?"
"I am sure I wish no harm to him, and I daresay he is in very good
health, as you say," whispered she, at last.
"Who told--?" began he again, sterner than ever.
"Well, if you will know, and will make such a fuss about it," said
she, driven to extremity, "it was you yourself--you or Dr. Nicholls,
I am sure I forget which."
"I never spoke to you on the subject, and I don't believe Nicholls
did. You'd better tell me at once what you're alluding to, for I'm
resolved I'll have it out before we leave this room."
"I wish I'd never married again," she said, now fairly crying, and
looking round the room, as if in vain search for a mouse-hole in
which to hide herself. Then, as if the sight of the door into the
store-room gave her courage, she turned and faced him.
"You should not talk your medical secrets so loud then, if you don't
want people to hear them. I had to go into the store-room that day
Dr. Nicholls was here; cook wanted a jar of preserve, and stopped me
just as I was going out--I am sure it was for no pleasure of mine,
for I was sadly afraid of stickying my gloves--it was all that you
might have a comfortable dinner."
She looked as if she was going to cry again, but he gravely motioned
her to go on, merely saying,--
"Well! you overheard our conversation, I suppose?"
"Not much," she answered eagerly, almost relieved by being thus
helped out in her forced confession. "Only a sentence or two."