overcame her, and she addressed herself to the man. 'I don't know
what I am to say, Captain Kurrell. I don't know what I can call you.
I think you've you've behaved abominably, and she has cut her
forehead terribly against the table.'

'It doesn't hurt. It isn't anything,' said Mrs. Boulte feebly. 'That
doesn't matter. Tell him what you told me. Say you don't care for
him. Oh, Ted, won't you believe her?'

'Mrs. Boulte has made me understand that you were that you were
fond of her once upon a time,' went on Mrs. Vansuythen.

'Well!' said Kurrell brutally. 'It seems to me that Mrs. Boulte had
better be fond of her own husband first.'

'Stop!' said Mrs. Vansuythen. 'Hear me first. I don't care I don't
want to know anything about you and Mrs. Boulte; but I want you
to know that I hate you, that I think you are a cur, and that I'll
never, never speak to you again. Oh, I don't dare to say what I
think of you, you man!'

'I want to speak to Ted,' moaned Mrs. Boulte, but the dog-cart
rattled on, and Kurrell was left on the road, shamed, and boiling
with wrath against Mrs. Boulte.

He waited till Mrs. Vansuythen was driving back to her own
house, and, she being freed from the embarrassment of Mrs.
Boulte's presence, learned for the second time her opinion of
himself and his actions.