It was certainly a relief to hear that Mr. Mannion was taking care of Margaret. He was, in my opinion, much fitter for such a trust than her own father. Of all the good services he had done for me, I thought this the best—but it would have been even better still, if he had prevented Margaret from going to the party.
“I must say again,” resumed Mr. Sherwin, still more irritably, finding I did not at once answer him, “there’s nothing that any reasonable being need make a fuss about. I’ve been doing everything for Margaret’s interests and yours—and she’ll be back by twelve—and Mr. Mannion takes care of her—and I don’t know what you would have—and it’s devilish hard, so ill as I am too, to cut up rough with me like this—devilish hard!”
“I am sorry for your illness, Mr. Sherwin; and I don’t doubt your good intentions, or the advantage of Mr. Mannion’s protection for Margaret; but I feel disappointed, nevertheless, that she should have gone out tonight.”
“I said she oughtn’t to go at all, whatever her aunt wrote— I said that.”
This bold speech actually proceeded from Mrs. Sherwin! I had never before heard her utter an opinion in her husband’s presence—such an outburst from her , was perfectly inexplicable. She pronounced the words with desperate rapidity, and unwonted power of tone, fixing her eyes all the while on me with a very strange expression.
“Damn it, Mrs. S. !” roared her husband in a fury, “will you hold your tongue? What the devil do you mean by giving your opinion, when nobody wants it? Upon my soul I begin to think you’re getting a little cracked. You’ve been meddling and bothering lately, so that I don’t know what the deuce has come to you! I’ll tell you what it is, Mr. Basil,” he continued, turning snappishly round upon me, “you had better stop that