Weaker than a Woman — page 208: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. . 199 She left the room, and the baronet went to the window. He felt rather ashamed of himself, for in his anger he had quite forgotten Miss Hethcote’s presence. He stood there looking out for some minutes in silence. Then he turned to her. “Women are so stupid,” he said. She was young, and loved Lady Chevenix very dearly, so she was not unwilling to take part in the fray. She had not yet learned that all-important lesson, that it is never safe to interfere between a man and his wife. “They are remarkably stupid,” she replied, “to tolerate such words as you have just used to Lady Chevenix. If I were in her place I know what I should do.” “What would you do?” he asked, sneeringly. “When I did find the silver-mounted riding-whip, I know what use I should make of it.” He laughed. The idea of a riding-whip in those delicate © little hands for the purpose hinted at amused him. “Tf you were in Lady Chevenix’s place,” he said, “you would do just as she does—submit; it is a woman’s lot.” “T should not mind submission, but my submission would be to a gentleman, not to a swearing, loud-voiced tyrant.” “You speak pretty freely,” he said. ‘“Do not vex me, though.” “I would rather vex than please you.” She was interrupted by the opening of the doak: Lady Chevenix entered. with the riding-whip in her hand. “T have found it, Owen,” she said, quietly, as though no unkind word had passed his lips. “Iam sorry to say that I did mislay it. It was put away bv mistake with mine.” “TI must request you, for the future,” he returned, “not to touch anything belonging tome. What is mine is mine, and not yours. Do not let me be vexed in this way again.” He left the room with a quick, angry bang at the door. Lady Chevenix quietly took up her point-lace and resumed the conversation. Marian Hethcote looked at her, wonder- ing tears in her eyes. She went over to her, and clasped her arms around her neck. “ Dear Lady Chevenix,” she said, “is it possible that you do not really care? I thought you would come back broken- hearted.” ‘Care, my dear, for trifles I am so thoroughly used. to?” questioned Sir Owen’s wife. “Certainly not.” “1 do not understand how you can bear it. It is wonder- fultome. Ishould runaway. I could not live under it,” — é nee | | comicbooks-co BK Wges cis os ec + Ph 14a. . Be .