She who had been the mildest of sweet-tempered creatures all her life had suddenly gone almost insane with heartbroken, hysteric grief and rage.  She did not know what she was saying and doing; she only realised in an agony of despair that she was a thing caught in a trap; that these people had her in their power, and that they had tricked and lied to her and kept her apart from what her girl’s heart so cried out to and longed for.  Her father, her mother, her little sister; they had been near her and had been lied to and sent away.

“You are quite mad, you violent, uncontrolled creature!” cried the Dowager furiously.  “You ought to be put in a straitjacket and drenched with cold water.”

Then the door opened again and Nigel strode in.  He was in riding dress and was breathless and livid with anger.  He was in a nice mood to confront a wife on the verge of screaming hysterics.  After a bad half hour with his steward, who had been talking of impending disasters, he had heard by chance of Wilson’s conflagration and the hundred-pound cheque.  He had galloped home at the top of his horse’s speed.

“Here is your wife raving mad,” cried out his mother.

Rosalie staggered across the room to him.  She held up her hand clenching the letter and shook it at him.

“My mother and father have been here,” she shrieked.  My mother has been ill.  They wanted to come to see me.  You knew and you kept it from me.  You told my father lies—­lies—­hideous lies!  You said I was away in Scotland—­enjoying myself—­when I was here and dying with homesickness.  You made them think I did not care for them—­or for New York!  You have killed me!  Why did you do such a wicked thing!

He looked at her with glaring eyes.  If a man born a gentleman is ever in the mood to kick his wife to death, as costermongers do, he was in that mood.  He had lost control over himself as completely as she had, and while she was only a desperate, hysteric girl, he was a violent man.

“I did it because I did not mean to have them here,” he said.  “I did it because I won’t have them here.”

“They shall come,” she quavered shrilly in her wildness.  “They shall come to see me.  They are my own father and mother, and I will have them.”

He caught her arm in such a grip that she must have thought he would break it, if she could have thought or felt anything.

“No, you will not have them,” he ground forth between his teeth.  “You will do as I order you and learn to behave yourself as a decent married woman should.  You will learn to obey your husband and respect his wishes and control your devilish American temper.”

“They have gone—­gone!” wailed Rosalie.  “You sent them away!  My father, my mother, my sister!”

“Stop your indecent ravings!” ordered Sir Nigel, shaking her.  “I will not submit to be disgraced before the servants.”

“Put your hand over her mouth, Nigel,” cried his mother.  “The very scullery maids will hear.”