"Excuse me," he interrupted, with cold and dangerous fury. "She didn't do anything of the kind."
Mr. Haim went wildly on, intimidated possibly by George's defiance, but desperate:
"And all the time, I say, you stay on here, deceiving us, spying on us. Going every night to that wicked, cruel, shameful girl and tittle-tattling. Do you suppose that if we'd had the slightest idea——"
George walked up to him.
"I'm not going to stand here and listen to you talking about Marguerite like that."
Their faces were rather close together. George forced himself away by a terrific effort and left the kitchen.
"Jackanapes!"
George swung round, very pale. Then with a hard laugh he departed. He stood in the hall, and thought of Mrs. Haim upstairs. The next moment he had got his hat and overcoat and was in the street. A figure appeared in the gloom. It was Mr. Prince.
"Hallo! Going out? How are things?"
"Oh! Fine!" He could scarcely articulate. A ghastly sob impeded the words. Tears gushed into his eyes. The dimly glowing oblongs in the dark façades of the Grove seemed unbearably tragic.