and shaming yourself and wives before

“I don’t like anything about this whole affair!” 　“Well, I think he did it partly for Melly’s sake but mostly because he thought it would be a huge joke on us all. We’ve hated him so much and showed it so plainly and now he’s got us in a fix where all of you have your choice of saying you were at that Watling woman’s house and shaming yourself and wives before the Yankees—or telling the truth and getting hanged. And he knows we’ll all be under obligation to him and his—mistress and that we’d almost rather be hanged than be obliged to them. Oh, I’ll wager he’s enjoying it.” 　The doctor groaned. “He did look amused when he took us upstairs in that place.” 　“Doctor,” Mrs. Meade hesitated, “what did it look like?” 　“What are you saying, Mrs. Meade?” 　“Her house. What did it look like? Are there cut-glass chandeliers? And red plush curtains and dozens of full-length gilt mirrors? And were the girls—were they unclothed?” 　“Good God!” cried the doctor, thunderstruck, for it had never occurred to him that the curiosity of a chaste woman concerning her unchaste sisters was so devouring. “How can you ask such immodest questions? You are not yourself. I will mix you a sedative.” 　“I don’t want a sedative. I want to know. Oh, dear, this is my only chance to know what a bad house looks like and now you are mean enough not to tell me!” 　“I noticed nothing. I assure you I was too embarrassed at finding myself in such a place to take note of my surroundings,” said the doctor formally, more upset at this unsuspected revelation of his wife’s character than he had been by all the previous events of the evening. “If you will excuse me now, I will try to get some sleep.”