"Now, mother——"
Mrs. Warham met his eyes steadily. "I must protect my sister's child, George," she said. At last she had found what she felt was a just reason for keeping Sam away from Susan, so her tone was honest and strong.
Warham lowered his gaze. He understood. "Oh—as you think best, Fan; I didn't mean to interfere," said he awkwardly. He turned on Susan with his affection in his eyes. "Well, Brownie, it looks like chess with your old uncle, doesn't it?"
Susan's bosom was swelling, her lip trembling. "I—I——" she began. She choked back the sobs, faltered out: "I don't think I could, Uncle," and rushed from the room.
There was an uncomfortable pause. Then Warham said, "I must say, Fan, I think—if you had to do it—you might have spared the girl's feelings."
Mrs. Warham felt miserable about it also. "Susie took me by surprise," she apologized. Then, defiantly, "And what else can I do? You know he doesn't come for any good."
Warham stared in amazement. "Now, what does that mean?" he demanded.
"You know very well what it means," retorted his wife.
Her tone made him understand. He reddened, and with too blustering anger brought his fist down on the table.
"Susan's our daughter. She's Ruth's sister."