“May I ask where you have been at this extraordinary hour?” said Grandcourt.
“Oh, yes; I have been to Miss Lapidoth’s, to ask her to come and sing for us,” said Gwendolen, laying her gloves on the little table beside her, and looking down at them.
“And to ask her about her relations with Deronda?” said Grandcourt, with the coldest possible sneer in his low voice which in poor Gwendolen’s ear was diabolical.
For the first time since their marriage she flashed out upon him without inward check. Turning her eyes full on his she said, in a biting tone,
“Yes; and what you said is false—a low, wicked falsehood.”
“She told you so—did she?” returned Grandcourt, with a more thoroughly distilled sneer.
Gwendolen was mute. The daring anger within her was turned into the rage of dumbness. What r
