"My son would be dull here without me," she said.
"Oh, Jack," returned the other, shrugging his shoulders, "he'll get on very well. If you were going, you know, you might leave him something—"
She started to her feet with eyes blazing.
"You had better go," she said in a low voice. "I have endured a good deal from you, Sibley; and I've always known that the day would come when you'd insult me. It will be better for us both if you go."
He rose in his turn, as collected as ever.
"Insult you, my dear Louise? Why, I wouldn't hurt your feelings for anything in the world. I give you leave to repeat every word that I have said to any of your friends,—to Miss Wentstile, or Letty Harbinger, or to Jack—"
"If I repeated them to Jack," she interrupted him, "he'd break every bone in your body!"
"Would he? I doubt it. At any rate he would have to hear me first; and then—"
Mrs. Neligage, all her brightness quenched, her face old and miserable, threw out her hands in despairing supplication.
"Go!" she cried. "Go! Or I shall do something we'll both be sorry for! Go, or I'll call that policeman over there."