He seldom raised his voice, and never swore.

Yet there was about him a certain amount of force that made itself felt more by his silence than his speech.
His young wife, though she shrugged her shoulders and looked contemptuous, did not venture upon open defiance.
"I am to decline the invitation, then ?" she asked presently, without turning.
"Certainly!" Sir Roland again made leisurely reply as he scanned the page before him.
"And give as an excuse that you are too staunch a Tory to approve of such an innovation as the waltz ?" "You may give any excuse that you consider suitable," he returned with unruffled composure.
"I know of none," she answered, with a quick vehemence that trembled on the edge of rebellion.
Sir Roland turned very slowly in his chair and regarded the delicate outline of his wife's figure against the window-frame.
"Then, my dear," he said very deliberately, "let me recommend you once more to have recourse to your ever romantic imagination!" She quivered, and clenched her hands, as if goaded beyond endurance.
"You do not treat me fairly," she murmured under her breath.
Sir Roland continued to look at her with the air of a naturalist examining an interesting specimen of his cult.

He said nothing till, driven by his scrutiny, she turned and faced him.
"What is your complaint ?" he asked then.
She hesitated for an instant.

There was doubt--even a hint of fear--upon her beautiful face.

Then, with a certain recklessness, she spoke: "I have been accustomed to freedom of action all my life.