The wells of the brass double-inkstand danced in their sockets.
“What the devil do you mean, sir?”
Mr. Jackson, shifting himself slightly in his chair, turned a tranquil gaze on the young man’s burning face.
“Well—I have it on pretty good authority—in fact, on old Catherine’s herself—that the family reduced Countess Olenska’s allowance considerably when she definitely refused to go back to her husband; and as, by this refusal, she also forfeits the money settled on her when she married—which Olenski was ready to make over to her if she returned—why, what the devil do you mean, my dear boy, by asking me what I mean?” Mr. Jackson good-humouredly retorted.