Henry continued to stare at him. 'I was quite right. Your brain is unhinged, William. When I last saw you, you appeared fairly normal--and now I come in and discover you arrayed like the lilies of the field and kissing my wife.'

William gave a cry like a wounded animal. 'Your indictment is only too true. Henry, it is terrible. I can never even hope for your forgiveness for such a heinous offence. The only reparation I can make is to go forth from your house, shake from my feet the dust of your hospitable roof----'

Our Elizabeth — Part 62

'That metaphor's wrong, William,' I interposed.

Our Elizabeth — Part 62

'What on earth are you talking about, old chap?' inquired Henry.

Our Elizabeth — Part 62

'Have I not betrayed the trust you always reposed in me?'

'I wouldn't put it as strong as that,' replied Henry, eyeing him up and down, 'though you certainly have made a bit of a guy of yourself. Who created those trousers?'

'I--I--was not referring to my change of apparel, Henry, but to that most unfortunate aberration on my part, when I was impelled by some strange uncontrollable impulse to bestow a labial salute on your wife. Heaven only knows that I----'

'As for that, I expect she egged you on,' calmly rejoined that horrid Henry. 'I know her. You did flirt with him, didn't you, Netta?'

Before I could reply William sprang to his feet and placed himself before me. 'Stop, Henry!' he exclaimed, 'You have no right to suggest such a thing. If I took a gentle unsuspecting woman unawares, then I am willing to stand by the consequences of my rash act. Never for one moment, I can assure you, did such a thought enter Mrs. Warrington's head. She was wholly unprepared----'

'I'm not so sure of that,' put in Marion, with a sniff.

I began to feel somewhat of a martyr. 'Yes, it _was_ rather a surprise,' I remarked.

'Only a moment before,' continued William, 'Mrs. Warrington had said to me, "If you do kiss me, I shall never forgive you!"' Oh, clumsy, clumsy William!

'Then you had been discussing it,' commented Marion, who seemed unusually chilly about the innocent affair.

'Well, I'm hungry, so let's have dinner now,' suggested Henry, 'and we can settle the discussion afterwards.'

But William strode to the door. 'No, no, Henry, I cannot break bread in your house again after this distressing incident. I have imposed on your kindness and good faith, disturbed your trust in me----'