“And you actually intend to keep that dangerous bloodstained object amongst your ornaments — in spite of all!”
“Really, Mrs. Staniland, do you expect me to have it hung?” he said, with an irritation he could control no longer.
“It pleases you to be sarcastic, sir,” she replied. “But no one with a spark of decent feeling, to say nothing of taste, would care to keep such a thing about him after this, supposing it had been a mere accident. No, he would throw it out of window, give it away, break it to atoms — anything rather than that!”
Sybil had been standing a little apart, listening with downcast eyes, slightly ashamed, perhaps of the whole thing, and yet, as the corners of her lips betrayed, quite alive to the ludicrous side of the situation. Now, at this latest display of unreasonable
