“Why don’t you answer?”
“You didn’t ask a question. You issued an order.”
“And you will obey it.”
Silence.
“Did you hear?”
“Yes.”
“I won’t tolerate sullenness. I am your father. I know life—the world—what is best for my family—for you. I don’t often interfere. When I do, I expect obedience.”
“It seems to me you are blustering a good deal, for one who is sure of obedience,” said Beatrice, in a way that brought out all her latent resemblance to the incarnation of passionate will and willful passion who begot her.
“I’ve always been indulgent with all my family—with you,” fumed Richmond. “But I think you know me well enough to know I’m not to be trifled with.”
“Nor am I,” said the girl. And again she eyed him in that unyielding way.