“I will die first. If it lie there until I open it, it will lie there forever.”
He opened the envelope neatly with a paper cutter, and handed her the enclosure. She kept down her hands stubbornly. He smiled a little, still presenting it. At last she snatched it, much as she would have liked to snatch a handful of his hair. Having read it, she turned pale, and looked as she had used to in her childhood, when in disgrace and resolute not to cry. “I had rather have had my two hands cut off,” she said passionately, after a pause.
“It is very sad for you,” said Conolly, sympathetically. “He is an educated man; but I cannot think that he has much in him.”
“He is a selfish, lying, conceited hound. Educated, indeed! And what are you going to do, may I ask?”
“Eat my supper. I am as hungry as a bear.”
“Yes, you had better, I think. Good-evening.” He seemed to know that she would not leave; for he made no movement to open the door for her. On her way out, she turned, and so came at him with her fists clenched, that for a moment he was doubtful whether she would not bodily assault him.
“Are you a brute, or a fool, or both?” she said, letting her temper loose. “How long do you intend to stand there, doing nothing?”
“What can I do, Miss McQuinch?” he said, gently.
“You can follow her and bring her back before she has made an utter idiot of herself with that miserable blackguard. Are you afraid of him? If you are, I will go with you, and not let him touch you.”
“Thank you,” he said, good-humoredly. “But you see she does not wish to live with me.”