This was unexpected. Mrs. Darrow took counsel with herself, and realised that her position was hopeless. She made one final attempt.
"I'm sure I only did my duty," she wailed. "How can you ask me to allow my boy to grow up in the contaminating presence of such a creature? It is too bad, uncle—too cruel of you to place me in such a position."
"Julia, far from contaminating the child, Miss Crane has already done much to counteract the effects of your very injudicious management of him. What I have said I will do. You know I am not the man to break my word."
"Gracious Heavens! I believe you are in love with the woman!"
"No, you know better than that. My relations with Miss Crane are not of an amorous nature, but they are important, nevertheless, to me—and must be respected."
"Well, if this is all the thanks I am to get for warning you of a danger that threatens your life, I hope you'll be able to protect yourself—but, mark me, uncle, you will be sorry for having behaved so cruelly. What can I do? You know I am dependent upon you and must submit. But it is wicked and wrong of you to take advantage of that to force upon me the presence of a creature I detest. And for what good?"
And Mrs. Darrow once more opened the flood-gates wide, and with them her whole battery of accompanying gesticulations.
"There, there," said Barton, pouring out another glass of wine for her, "drink this, and have a little more confidence in me. You are quite wrong about Miss Crane. Be a sensible woman, Julia, for once in a way, and drop this. I have told you I won't have it, so there's an end of the matter."
She drank the wine, adjusted her cloak, and stepped towards the window which he held open for her.
"I must do what you wish," she blurted out, "because I am poor and defenceless—but the day will come, and that soon, Uncle Barton, when you will be sorry indeed for having trusted that wretch instead of me."