For once she would express all the loathing she felt for the whole pack of political hounds.

She would see whether the animal was made like other beings; whether he had a sense of honour; a single clean spot in his mind.
Then it occurred to her that after all there might be a mistake; perhaps Mr.
Ratcliffe could explain the charge away.

But this thought only laid bare another smarting wound in her pride.

Not only did she believe the charge, but she believed that Mr.Ratcliffe would defend his act.

She had been willing to marry a man whom she thought capable of such a crime, and now she shuddered at the idea that this charge might have been brought against her husband, and that she could not dismiss it with instant incredulity, with indignant contempt.