"I am sorry," I said, rather more gently than I felt, "to have been more of a burden on you than I knew. Had I known, had I for one instant dreamed that I would be dependent on you, I would never have consented to this arrangement. This may sound very foolish, I know, and I see now how impossible it all would have been,—but this is how I felt, and you, I think, knew."
He nodded, eyes on mine.
"Yes," said he.
"You have had a very pretty revenge," I told him, each word dropping like a cold, little stone into the hush of the big room. "You must have laughed, often, to yourself. No doubt it has been very amusing, waiting for the bubble to break. If you will make me out a statement, as nearly as you can, of just how much I am indebted to you, I will try to repay you little by little."
I felt the absurdity of the situation, the utter arrogance and futility of my words as I spoke them. But I had to speak.
"Please—" he flung out a protesting hand, "why do you fret yourself with trifles? Are you not willing to make some further sacrifice for your Father? When the time comes for us to separate, I had hoped—after all, it would be only the usual thing to do—to make you an allowance."
"Did you intend to consult me about it?" I asked, furiously.
He hesitated.
"Please answer," I said.
At my tone, he raised his eyebrows ever so slightly.