His wife seemed quite used to it.

She merely shrugged her shoulders and hummed a note or two of "Ca ira." It irritated the husband beyond all bounds.
"Hold your tongue, my lady.

What, because a 'prentice-lad once saved my life, and you choose to patronise him as you do many another vagabond, with your cursed liberty and equality, am I to have him at my table, and treat him as a gentleman?
By -- --, madam, never!" He spoke savagely, and loud.

John was silent; he had locked his hands together convulsively; but it was easy to see that his blood was at boiling heat, and that, did he once slip the leash of his passions, it would go hard with Richard Brithwood.
The latter came up to him with clenched fist.

"Now mark me, you--you vagabond!" Ursula March crossed the room, and caught his arm, her eyes gleaming fire.
"Cousin, in my presence this gentleman shall be treated as a gentleman.
He was kind to my father." "Curse your father!" John's right hand burst free; he clutched the savage by the shoulder.
"Be silent.