“You mean to tell me” he said, “that you have a lover? While I have been keeping you! Yes—keeping you!” This view of life he hurled at her as if it were an offensive missile. Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLENDRAPER. “Very well,” he said, “I will go. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. Now let us forget it. . But don’t think your heroic milice will save you. I think a wife a needless incumbrance, and mean to die a bachelor. ’ ‘But, Hilary—’ ‘Don’t you begin, Lucilla, for I won’t stand for it.
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