“You must be aware,” proceeded Mrs. Venables, without taking any notice of these questions—­“indeed, you cannot fail to be perfectly well aware—­that a large proportion of the public was dissatisfied with the verdict in your case.”

“Your husband, for one!” Rachel agreed, with a scornful laugh.  “He would have come to see me hanged; he told me so at his own table.”

“You never would have been at his table,” retorted Mrs. Venables, with some effect, “if he or I had dreamt who you were; but now that we know, you may be quite sure that none of us will sit at yours.”

And Mrs. Venables rose up in all her might and spite, her brown eyes flashing, her handsome head thrown back.

“Are you still speaking for the district?” inquired Rachel, conquering a recreant lip to put the question, and putting it with her finest scorn.

“I am speaking for Mr. Venables, my daughters, and myself,” rejoined the lady with great dignity; “others will speak for themselves; and you will soon learn in what light you are regarded by ordinary people.  It is a merciful chance that we have found you out—­a merciful chance!  That you should dare—­you, about whom there are not two opinions among sensible people—­that you should dare to come among us as you have done and to speak to me as you have spoken!  But one thing is certain—­it is for the last time.”

With that Mrs. Venables sailed to the door by which she was to make her triumphant exit, but she stopped before reaching it.  Steel stood before her on the threshold, and as he stood he closed the door behind him, and as he closed it he turned and took out the key.  There was the other door that led through the conservatory into the garden.  Without a word he crossed the room, shut that door also, locked it, and put the two keys in his pocket.  Then at last he turned to the imprisoned lady.

“You are quite right, Mrs. Venables.  It is the last conversation we are likely to have together.  The greater the pity to cut it short!”

“Will you have the goodness to let me go?” the visitor demanded, white and trembling, but not yet unimpressive in her tremendous indignation.

“With the greatest alacrity,” replied Steel, “when you have apologized to my wife.”

Rachel stood by without a word.

“For what?” cried Mrs. Venables.  “For telling her what the whole world thinks of her?  Never; and you will unlock that door this instant, unless you wish my husband to—­to—­horsewhip you within an inch of your life!”

Steel merely smiled; he could well afford to do so, lithe and supple as he still was, with flabby Mr. Venables in his mind’s eye.

“I might have known what to expect in this house,” continued Mrs. Venables, in a voice hoarse with suppressed passion, “what unmanly and ungentlemanly behavior, what cowardly insults!  I might have known!”

And she glanced from the windows to the bells.