“I have been keeping you under observation myself.”
“Quite possibly. I’ve been allowed to see nobody except that maid who acts as if she were deaf and dumb. If you are trying to tell me that I’m mentally deranged, I won’t stand for it! The mere fact that you now propose that I act as your wife’s secretary proves that you consider me capable. What right have you to keep me a prisoner in my own home? Who are you, Mr. Martin Lawson, to take upon yourself the regulating of my life?” Dorothy burst into angry tears.
“But my dear child—” protested Mr. Jordan. “I’ve never seen you behave like this—”
“No! And up to now,” she stormed, her eyes flashing, “you’ve never given me cause. In the first place I’m no longer a child—you forget that—and then—what kind of a life did you give me as a child? You are my father and you say that you love me, but can you expect deep affection from a daughter whom you ship to boarding school at five? You wouldn’t even let me visit friends during the holidays. For years at a time you never took the trouble to come and see me. How can you expect love and obedience after years of neglect?” She drew a sobbing breath, then went on: “For a while we traveled—you were nice to me—I enjoyed it. We settled down here. I forgave what you’d done to my childhood. I tried to make this flat a home for you, even though I was kept like a cloistered nun and you allowed me no friends. But this is going too far.”
“And what, may I ask, are you going to do about it?” inquired Lawson with a disagreeable smile.
“What can a defenseless girl without friends do to stop two big bullies? I shall go with you, Mr. Lawson, because I can’t help myself. But don’t expect me to like being used as a slave, even though I may be of some comfort to that long-suffering wife of yours. Oh, that makes you angry, does it? Well, let me tell you, that you are not half as angry as I am. You can practice your strong-arm methods on defenseless women and get away with it—some day you’ll try it on a man—and by the time he gets through thrashing you there won’t be enough left for the boneyard.” She flashed a smile of contempt on the furious man, and turned to Mr. Jordan who was speaking again.
“What has come over you, Janet?” he was saying. “I’ve never heard you speak so rudely to anyone before. You’ve always been such a quiet little mouse—”
“And you’ve taken advantage of it,” she interrupted. “What you forget is that even a mouse will turn and fight when it’s cornered. If you really loved me—if you had a spark of manhood in your selfish body, you’d thrash this man to within an inch of his life and throw him into the street. Get out of here—both of you!” she cried hysterically. “And please—no more silly arguments—I don’t want to be forced to say before outsiders what a contemptible person my father is proving himself to be.”
This last tirade seemed to stun Mr. Jordan. From the almost agonized expression on his face, she saw that at last conscience was at work. The man was utterly miserable. He could not hide it.
“Will you—will you be ready to leave in half an hour, Janet?” His voice was a mere whisper and shook with suppressed feeling.