"It does exist."
"I doubt it. Have you, then, ever promised to marry him, Helen?"
"I don't remember I was ever asked to."
Something like a flame went across Morgan's face, left red spots on it, and a glare in his eyes.
"Helen!" The chandelier shook with his voice and step. Helen did not move or look at him. Thaddeus raised a deprecating hand. "I must beg you not to shout in my house." Morgan paused and concentrated. The natural thing to do, the simple instinct, would be, with one hand to crumple up this grinning old idiot—tall stock and curled hair and all—stuff him away somewhere, and carry off Helen into the windy night, with her white dress and blue ribbon around the throat. It seemed impossible, even in an artificial age, that slim creatures should dare to balk him. She stood up quickly, and he caught her closely about the shoulders with his arm.
"It's absolute nonsense—"
"Please let me go, Morgan. I don't want to fight."
"Tell your uncle you belong to me."
"No!"
"Helen, do as I say!"