“Her aunt has only the income of an estate. She leaves nothing to Ethel; and certainly she gives nothing to Ethel when she is the wife of Mr. Metz.”
“But I thought—” he began.
Suddenly the frail little old creature blazed into magnificent wrath.
“Be off!” she cried, raising her hand in a threatening gesture. “Away with you, miserable, beggarly fortune hunter! Wolf! Bestia! Be off!”
He started back. She leaned out of the window, her voice wonderfully strong and vigorous for her years. As he retreated, even above the roar of the incoming train, he heard her only too plainly, and was aware that other people heard her, too.
“Beggarly fortune hunter! Wolf! Bestia! Away with you!”
He was glad to climb on board.
The taxi went hastening back along the dark, still roads, and the old lady held the sobbing Ethel tight in her arms.
“But what is there to cry about?” she asked, in tears herself. “Foolish little one! You shall stay with me, my little bird, until you are ready to fly away. There was something put by for you to have— later. You shall have it now, for the singing lessons. Why do you cry, then? You shall sing, I tell you!”
Ethel was silent for a time.