He began to tremble in his turn, and was so horror-stricken and
agitated that he could hardly speak. "Am I dreaming?" he gasped.
Lady Bassett saw the storm she had raised, and would have given the
world to recall her words.
"Whose is he, then?" asked Sir Charles, in a voice scarcely human.
"I don't know," said Lady Bassett doggedly.
"Then how dare you say that he isn't mine?"
"Kill me, Charles," cried she, passionately; "but don't look at me so
and speak to me so. Why I say he is not yours, is he like you either in
face or mind?"
"And he is like--whom?"
Lady Bassett had lost all her courage by this time: she whimpered out,
"Like nobody except the gypsies."
"Bella, this is a subject which will part you and me for life unless we
can agree upon it--"
No reply, in words, from Lady Bassett.
"So please let us understand each other. Your son is not my son. Is
that what you look me in the face and tell me?"
"Charles, I never said _that._ How could he be my son, and not be
yours?"
And she raised her eyes, and looked him full in the face: nor fear nor
cringing now: the woman was majestic.
Sir Charles was a little alarmed in his turn; for his wife's soft eyes
flamed battle for the first time in her life.
"Now you talk sense," said he; "if he is yours, he is mine; and, as he
is certainly yours, this is a very foolish conversation, which must not
be renewed, otherwise--"
"I shall be insulted by my own husband?"
"I think it very probable.
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