Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. Then a surge of rage welled up. His pride, however, would not suffer him to interfere with their proceedings; much less could he bring himself to acknowledge that he had been in the wrong, and entreat Lady Trafford to remain, though he was well aware that her life might be endangered if she travelled by night. “I have been training myself to look askance at beautiful things. “I did it for love of you,” he said. ‘Not another caller will I receive this day. She could see that he was curious, so she sat upon him and they rocked back and forth.
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