"She refuses to live here with me?" says Lady Rylton. "And why, may I ask?"
Her small, pale face flushes angrily.
"I don't know, really; you should be the one to know."
His tone is so cold, so uncompromising, that she decides on coming to terms for the present. Afterwards, when that girl has married him, she will remember to some purpose, so far as she is concerned. There is a little tale that she can tell her.
"Dearest Maurice, how could I? I always fancied I treated her with the utmost kindness. But why should we worry about it? No doubt it was a mere girlish fancy, a distaste," playfully, "to the terrible mamma-in-law of fiction. Such monsters do not exist now. She will learn that by degrees. You will bring her to stay with me for awhile on your return from your honeymoon?"
"If you desire it."
"Of course I shall desire it; then she and I will become great friends. You are going? My love to your little fiancée, and say I am so charmed, so delighted! And tell her I should like her to come to me for a quiet little talk in the morning about eleven; I shall have no one with me then but Marian."
"She shall not come to you, then," says Rylton. A dark red mounts to his brow. What a diabolical thought—to receive those two together! "Do you hear?" says he imperiously.
"Good heavens, yes!" says his mother, pretending prettily to cower before him. "What a tone! What a look! What have I done, then?"
"What devilish cruelty is in your heart I don't know," says he, his passion carrying him beyond all bounds; "but understand at once, I will not have Tita tortured."