Again Alice interrupted. “Mother—wait—please.” She stepped between them. “Edith is suffering very much, Donald.”
“So am I,” he remarked grimly.
“Then why don’t you stop it?” Mrs. Pope was not to be put off. “What do you mean by dashing out of the house like a madman, kidnaping your child, and disgracing us all before a stranger? It’s outrageous!”
“Disgracing you! What about my disgrace?” Donald turned from her and addressed himself to Alice. “Alice,” he asked, “does your mother know why I left New London? Do you?”
“Yes—I—know what Emerson said.”
Again Mrs. Pope interrupted. “I know that you accuse my daughter of carrying on a love-affair with Mr. West,” she cried. “I don’t believe it—but what of it? What if she did? You did precious little for her, goodness knows. Now that she has a little happiness, you want to take it away from her, just because you didn’t give it to her. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”
“I’ll settle this matter with my wife—not with you.” Donald’s voice showed his irritation at her interference.
“Poor child! My poor child! Why will you not listen to reason?”
“I don’t care to discuss the matter any further. Our ideas are too different on some subjects.” He went over toward the desk, turning his back upon the others.