But Dot had gone very white.
‘You mean to say, Larrie, that you would try to stop me now?’ she said.
‘I mean to say I shall stop you, there will be no trying about it,’ he answered.
His temper had not perfectly balanced itself again, and that together with the unpleasant dampness he was just beginning to feel, made his speech somewhat despotic.
‘Your reasons?’ Dot’s voice was quiet, dangerously so.
‘I do not care for my wife to sing in a public place like that, I don’t approve of the way the thing has been managed, I don’t like you having so much to do with that fellow, that is quite enough,’ he moved to the door. ‘Where’s that old brown coat of mine, I hope you haven’t given it away.’
But Dot was sitting on the sofa again, fighting with herself far too fiercely to think [p 96] ]of old brown coats, indeed, the question conveyed no intelligence to her at all. Out of twenty conflicting emotions, rebellion was by far the strongest. She said, ‘I shall go, I shall go,’ again and again and again in such stormy whispers, that baby stirred and tossed the linen antimacassar off his hands. Larrie had gone to get dry.
‘I shall go,’ she repeated with strong emphasis on the last word.
‘Bab, bab, bab,’ said baby softly. He yawned deliciously and flung up his arms.
Dot gave him a hurried pat or two.