"Papa . . ."
"What is it, dear?"
"Eduard is downstairs!" she whispered. "I only came to tell you. He wants to take Emilie with him. He has struck her."
"Tell him I'll speak to him . . . as soon as our visitors have gone."
And, as the host, he turned to his guests again.
Marianne went downstairs, found Eduard in the boys' sitting-room. He was quietly smoking.
"Papa will speak to you as soon as they're all gone. The carriages will be here in three-quarters of an hour."
"Very well," he said laconically.
Her blood seethed up:
"You're a cowardly wretch!" she cried. "You've struck Emilie!"
He flared up, losing all his stiff German society-manners:
"And I'm her husband!" he roared. "But you . . . you . . ."
"What about me?"
"You've no decency! You're in love with your uncle! With a married man!"
"O-o-oh!" screamed Marianne.
She hid her face with her hands, terrified. Then she recovered herself, but her pale face flushed red with shame:
"You don't know what you're saying!" she said,
