"But we start next week—"
"That," murmured Thaddeus, "is not, in point of fact, such a bad idea."
"And now, Nellie, I think it would be better if every one knew what you are to me before I left. I'll tell you why I didn't want it before—"
"It's funny, but you never take the trouble to ask what you are to me."
There was a silence that suggested threats. As far as Thaddeus could make out she had seemed to speak quite coolly. "She won't lose her head. God bless her!" he thought; "but—a—I think I'll step into this."
"If you're going to be subtle," said Morgan, at last, with a new harshness and blare in his voice, "I sha'n't understand it. It's perfectly simple. I want you to tell your uncle—Well, then, I will."
Thaddeus pulled the curtain and went through.
"I beg pardon. I seem to be referred to."
Morgan turned where he stood. Helen sat in a low chair before the sea-coal fire, and did not look up or turn her head.
"I should have—if I had supposed the conversation was to be of such a private nature—I should have—a—signified my presence before. As it is, I take the opportunity to observe that your—a—importunity appears to be unpleasant to Helen, to request that you—a—leave her alone, and to state that—a—no engagement between you will ever exist with my consent or her mother's."