"Yes, she is at home; but you can't see her."
Theodore grew a shade paler than usual, and answered sharply, "But I insist upon seeing her." He threw aside the mask of civility. It evidently was wasted here.
"'Insist' is an unmannerly word to use; and a ridiculous one under the circumstances—which, perhaps, you'll mind more. You can't see my granddaughter."
He glared at her in a white rage. Theodore's anger was never of the blazing, explosive sort. If fire typifies that passion in most persons, in him it resembled frost. His metal turned cold in wrath; but it would skin the fingers which incautiously touched it. A fit of serious anger was apt, also, to make him feel ill and tremulous.
"May I ask why I cannot see her?" he said, almost setting his teeth as he spoke.
"Because she wishes to avoid you. She fled away when she saw you coming," answered Mrs. Dobbs, with pitiless frankness.
He drew two or three long breaths, like a person who has been running hard, before saying, "That is very strange! It is only a few days ago that Miss Cheffington was sitting beside me at dinner; talking to me in the sweetest and most gracious manner."
"As to sitting beside you, I suppose she had to sit where she was put! And as to sweetness—no doubt she was civil. But, at any rate, she declines to see you now. She has said so as plain as plain English can express it."
"Your statement is incredible. Suppose I say I don't believe it! What guarantee have I that you are telling me the truth?"
"None at all," she answered quietly.