"I think you're rather horrid about it, yourself, B. I certainly have been angry the way he has behaved since, but I can't see that that comes in, and I don't believe it does."
"Well, I'm quite sure it does. But what do you think he has sent Mrs. Mercer here about?"
Mollie hesitated for a moment. "Mrs. Mercer has been talking lately," she said, "as if I had quite given them up since you came. You know—little bits stuck in every now and then, when she's talking about something else. 'Oh, of course, we can't expect to see much of you now, Mollie.' All that sort of thing. It makes me uncomfortable. And she wasn't like it at first. She was so pleased that I had made friends with you."
"He has talked her over to it. That's what I meant when I said she was under his thumb. Do you think he has sent her here then to complain to your mother?"
"I think she is talking me over with mother."
"But Mrs. Walter was angry when he interfered, wasn't she?"
"Oh, yes, she was. But she has made excuses for him since. He ought not to have said what he did. But he meant well."
"I think it was disgusting, what he said; perfectly outrageous. And I don't think he meant well either. It's all part of what I tell you. He hates anybody having anything to do with you but himself." She changed her tone. "Moll darling," she said coaxingly, "you might tell me about it. I've told you everything about myself."
Mollie took up her work, and kept her eyes fixed upon it. "Tell you about what," she asked. "I am telling you everything."
"You do like him, don't you? It's quite plain he likes you."