Beyond the steps was a pole-chair in readiness. She was no longer a confederate in that. "I'll show you Captain Sheppard, my dear. ‘Dunderhead. I expect company. And here, we may be permitted to offer an observation upon the peculiar and unaccountable influence which ladies of a shrewish turn so frequently exercise over—we can scarcely, in this case, say—their lords and masters; an influence which seems not merely to extend to the will of the husband, but even to his inclinations. It was surely odd that her thought should pick up that picture and recast it so vividly. She had intended to be quietly dignified, but he was in a smouldering rage from the beginning, and began by assuming, which alone was more than flesh and blood could stand, that the insurrection was over and that she was coming home submissively. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. Turning now, and running down the terrace.
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