"I am very silly," she said; "but really he has made me quite hysterical."
"Who--who has made you hysterical?"
"Your nephew--Mr. Robert Audley."
"Robert," cried the baronet. "Lucy, what do you mean?"
"I told you that Mr. Audley insisted upon my going into the lime-walk, dear," said my lady. "He wanted to talk to me, he said, and I went, and he said such horrible things that--"
"What horrible things, Lucy?"
Lady Audley shuddered, and clung with convulsive fingers to the strong hand that had rested caressingly upon her shoulder.
"What did he say, Lucy?"
"Oh, my dear love, how can I tell you?" cried my lady. "I know that I shall distress you--or you will laugh at me, and then--"
"Laugh at you? no, Lucy."
Lady Audley was silent for a moment. She sat looking straight before her into the fire, with her fingers still locked about her husband's hand.
"My dear," she said, slowly, hesitating now and then between her words, as if she almost shrunk from uttering them, "have you ever--I am so afraid of vexing you--have you ever thought Mr. Audley a little--a little--"
"A little what, my darling?"
"A little out of his mind?" faltered Lady Audley.
"Out of his mind!" cried Sir Michael. "My dear girl, what are you thinking of?"
"You said just now, dear, that you thought he was half mad."
"Did I, my love?" said the baronet, laughing. "I don't remember saying it, and it was a mere façon de parler, that meant nothing whatever. Robert may be a little eccentric--a little stupid, perhaps--he mayn't be overburdened with wits, but I don't think he has brains enough for madness. I believe it's generally your great intellects that get out of order."
"But madness is sometimes hereditary," said my lady. "Mr. Audley may have inherited--"
"He has inherited no madness from his father's family," interrupted Sir Michael. "The Audleys have never peopled private lunatic asylums or feed mad doctors."
"Nor from his mother's family?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"People generally keep these things a secret," said my lady, gravely. "There may have been madness in your sister-in-law's family."
"I don't think so, my dear," replied Sir Michael. "But, Lucy, tell me what, in Heaven's name, has put this idea into your head."
"I have been trying to account for your nephew's conduct. I can account for it in no other manner. If you had heard the things he said to me to-night, Sir Michael, you too might have thought him mad."
"But what did he say, Lucy?"
"I can scarcely tell you. You can see how much he has stupefied and bewildered me. I believe he has lived too long alone in those solitary Temple chambers. Perhaps he reads too much, or smokes too much. You know that some physicians declare madness to be a mere illness of the brain--an illness to which any one is subject, and which may be produced by given causes, and cured by given means."