“Good Heaven!” he cried in astonishment. “What a remarkable notion of the fitness———”
“That will be his chance to repay you for all that you have done for him, James,” said she, as calm as a May morning.
“Have I ever said that I do not love him?” he demanded shortly.
“For that matter, have you ever said that you do not hate him?”
“By Jove, you are a puzzle to me!” he exclaimed, and a fine moisture came out on his forehead.
“Let the boy alone, James,” she went on earnestly. “He is———”
“See here, Yvonne,” he broke in sternly, “that is a matter we can't discuss. You do not understand, and I cannot explain certain things to you. I came here just now to ask you to be fair to him, even though I may not appear to be. You are———”
“That is also a matter we cannot discuss,” said she calmly.
“But it is a thing we are going to discuss, just the same,” said he. “Sit down, my dear, and listen to what I have to say. Sit down!”
For a moment she faced him defiantly. He was no longer angry, and therein lay the strength that opposed her. She could have held her own with him if he had maintained the angry attitude that marked the beginning of their interview. As it was, her eyes fell after a brief struggle against the dominant power in his, and she obeyed, but not without a significant tribute to his superiority in the shape of an indignant shrug.