—just in front, where to avoid looking at him must have the emphasis of effort.
"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 reasons for her belief could she give? All the reasons that seemed so strong and living within her—she saw them suffocated and shrivelled up under her husband's breath. There was no proof to give, but her own impression, which
