“He said ‘No,’ of course!” Sydney cried, with flashing eyes. “Why, I was father’s child—of course he wouldn’t be paid for keeping me!”
“Don’t indulge in heroics, please; they bore me,” St. Quentin observed drily. “Yes, Dr. Chichester—try to drop the expression ‘father,’ please, in speaking of him; it only makes you sound ridiculous—Dr. Chichester, I say, refused my offer with some heat. Like you, he appeared to consider it insulting. Tastes differ; mine is, as you know, for common sense. Now, I should be obliged if you would kindly give me your attention for five minutes. You are going to occupy a great position, and I do not intend to have those Chichesters hanging round you. Those brother-and-sister friendships are charming in theory, but they don’t work. I know what they lead to. I should be obliged if you would correspond less frequently with the doctor’s family, and shall request Aunt Rica to see to it. And I distinctly forbid you to have anything to do with that young man when next he happens to be staying in these parts. Do you understand me?”
“Do you mean you want me to forget mother and father, and all the rest of them at home?” Sydney cried. There was an odd expression on St. Quentin’s face, as he watched the growing indignation upon hers.
“Well, something like it—you won’t find it very difficult in time, I assure you,” was his answer.
“I don’t mean to do it!” she said with a trembling voice. “I shall have to obey you about not writing so often, or speaking to Hugh if I meet him, but I can’t and I won’t forget them! I hate this place! I wish I had never come, and when you talk like that I hate you!... I was beginning to care about you, but I don’t now at all!” She was fighting to keep back her sobs. “Do you forget the people you have cared for, that you want me to?” she asked him fiercely, and went quickly out.
St. Quentin turned his head and looked after her.
“Do I forget?” he muttered; “no, I wish I did!”