“Of course it isn’t!” Elliott returned, in a low voice. “I know your nature, Eunice; I’ve known it all our lives. You need kindness when you are in a tantrum. The outbursts of temper you cannot help—that I know positively—they’re an integral part of your nature. But they’re soon over—often the fiercer they are, the quicker they pass,—and if you were gently managed, not brutally, at the time they occur, it would go far to help you to overcome them entirely. But—and I ask you again—what were you discussing to-day when I came?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I think I do know—and forgive me, if I offend you—I think I can help you.”
“What do you mean?” Eunice looked up with a frightened stare.
“Don’t look like that—oh, Eunice, don’t! I only meant—I know you want money—ready money—let me give it to you—or lend it to you—do, Eunice—darling!”
“Thank you, Mason,” Eunice forced herself to say, “but I must refuse your offer. I think—I think we—we’ll go home now.”
Chapter VI
A Slammed Door
“Don’t you call her ‘that Desternay woman’!”
“I’ll call her what I please! And without asking your permission, either. And I won’t have my wife playing bridge at what is practically a gambling house!”
“Nothing of the sort! A party of invited guests, in a private house is a social affair, and you shall not call it ridiculous names! You play for far higher stakes at your club than we ever do at Fifi Desternay’s.”