As we were going in to dress for dinner, however, she said, quite gravely-- 'I am sorry, Maud, I allowed you to see that I have any unpleasant impressions about that governess lady.

I shall be at liberty some day to explain all about it, and, indeed, it will be enough to tell your father, whom I have not been able to find all day; but really we are, perhaps, making too much of the matter, and I cannot say that I know anything against Madame that is conclusive, or--or, indeed, at all; but that there are reasons, and--you must not ask any more--no, you must not.' That evening, while I was playing the overture to Cenerentola, for the entertainment of my cousin, there arose from the tea-table, where she and my father were sitting, a spirited and rather angry harangue from Lady Knollys' lips; I turned my eyes from the music towards the speakers; the overture swooned away with a little hesitating babble into silence, and I listened.
Their conversation had begun under cover of the music which I was making, and now they were too much engrossed to perceive its discontinuance.

The first sentence I heard seized my attention; my father had closed the book he was reading, upon his finger, and was leaning back in his chair, as he used to do when at all angry; his face was a little flushed, and I knew the fierce and glassy stare which expressed pride, surprise, and wrath.
'Yes, Lady Knollys, there's an animus; I know the spirit you speak in--it does you no honour,' said my father.
'And I know the spirit _you_ speak in, the spirit of _madness_,' retorted Cousin Monica, just as much in earnest.

'I can't conceive how you _can_ be so _demented_, Austin.

What has perverted you?
are you _blind_ ?' '_You_ are, Monica; your own unnatural prejudice--_unnatural_ prejudice, blinds you.