"Cecil, what do you think of Penelope's attitude toward Mr. Shaw?" she
asked, turning away from the window which looked out over the night in
the direction of Shaw's place.
"I didn't know she had an attitude," replied he, trying to focus his
wavering gaze upon her.
"She meets him clandestinely and she supports him openly. Isn't that
an attitude, or are you too drunk to see it?"
"My dear, remember you are speaking of my sister," he said with fine
dignity but little discrimination. "Besides, I am not too drunk.
I _do_ see it. It's a demmed annoying attitude. She's a traitor,
un'stand me? A traito-tor. I intend to speak to her about it."
"It is better that you should do it," said his wife. "I am afraid I
could not control my temper."
"Penelope's a disgrace--an absolute disgrace. How many legs did Hodder
say she'd--she'd broken?"
"Oh, you're disgusting!" cried Lady Evelyn. "Go to bed! I thought I
could talk to you to-night, but I can't. You scarcely can stand up."
"Now, Evelyn, you do me injustice. I'm only holding to this chair to
keep it from moving 'round the room. See that? Course I c'n stan' up,"
he cried, triumphantly.
"I am utterly disgusted with you. Oh, for a man! A man with real blood
in his veins, a man who could do something besides eat and drink at my
cost. I pay your debts, clothe you, feed you--house your ungrateful
sister--and what do I get in return? _This_!"
Lord Bazelhurst's eyes steadied beneath this unexpected assault, his
legs stiffened, his shoulders squared themselves in a pitiful attempt
at dignity.
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