"Sophy doesn't mean to insult you, mother," said Kit quietly, and looking as white as he was determined. "You must be reasonable."
"I am reasonable!" cried his mother violently. "There never was such an unreasonable person as you are. My own son turns against me," wailed the exasperating woman, again taking out her handkerchief to sob--"my own son, and I nursed him as a baby."
Kit and Sophy looked at each other helplessly, wholly undecided how to deal with this impossible woman. Mrs. Beatson only saw things in her own way and expected everyone else to see them as she concluded they should be seen. She had no common sense; she had no logic, she had no control over her temper, and when anyone disagreed with her, she made herself objectionable in every way. Miss Tollart, face to face with this unreasonable feminine nature, heaved a sigh.
"Well, I don't wonder that we don't get the vote," she mourned. "We aren't in the least ready for it."
"Hush, Sophy!" said Kit, touching her hand. "We must understand more about the matter. It can't be allowed to rest here."
"You promised to hold your tongue!" shrieked Mrs. Beatson, rather scared by the look on her son's face.
"I shall do so, so far as is consistent with my honor," retorted Kit bluntly; "and I'm not going to allow Mr. Hendle to get into trouble. He has been a good friend to you, mother, and a good friend to me. If you had a spark of gratitude toward him, you would never have behaved as you have done."
"How dare you speak to me in that way?"
"Because the time is past when you could play the tyrant."
"Tyrant! Tyrant! This to your mother, who bore you."