"Drunk? I'm as sober as the day I was born," he retorted, squaring his shoulders. "Look at me,—look me in the eye, Viola. Oh, well, if you WON'T look you won't, that's all. And if I'm as drunk as you imagine I am I should think you'd be ashamed to be seen in my company." She did not respond to this, so, with a sneering laugh, he continued: "Suppose I have had a little too much,—who's the cause of it? You! You drive me to it, you do. The last couple of weeks you've been throwing up all my faults to me, tormenting me till I'm nearly crazy with uncertainty. First you say you'll have me, that you'll do anything I wish, and then, just as I begin to feel that everything's all right, you up and say you're not sure whether you care for me or not and you're going to obey your mother in every—And, say, that reminds me. Unless I am very much mistaken, I think I'll soon have a way to bring your mother to time. She won't—"
He brought himself up with a jerk, realizing that his loose tongue was running away with his wits. She was looking at him with startled, inquiring eyes.
"What do you mean by that, Barry Lapelle?" she asked, and he was quick to detect the uneasiness in her manner.
He affected a grin of derision. "I'm going to put my case in the hands of Kenny Gwynne, the rising young barrister. With him on our side, my dear, I guess we'll bring her to time. All he has to do is to stand up to her and say he isn't going to put up with any more nonsense, and she'll see the light of wisdom. If he thinks it's all right for you to marry me, I guess that will end the matter. He's the head of the family, isn't he?"
This hastily conceived explanation of his luckless remark succeeded in deceiving her. She stared at him in distress.
"Oh, Barry, you—you surely can't be thinking of asking Kenneth to intercede—"
"Why not? He doesn't see any reason why we shouldn't be married, my dear. In fact, he told me so a few days ago. He—"
"I don't believe it," she cried.
"You don't?" he exclaimed sharply.
"No, I don't," she repeated.