I forgot all I meant to say (indeed, nothing happened as I had meant), but rose and said, "I have come to have a talk with you," as quietly as I could, though with a thick voice.
He seemed uneasy, and went towards the door.
I got there before him, and closed it, and locked it, and put the key in my pocket.
He darted to the other door and found it locked.
Then he went to the mantel-piece and looked for the creese, and not finding it, he turned round with his back to the fireplace and his arms akimbo, and tried to look very contemptuous and determined. His chin was quite white under his dyed mustache—like wax—and his eyes blinked nervously.
I walked up to him and said: "You told Mrs. Deane that I was your natural son."
"It's a lie! Who told you so?"
"She did—this afternoon."
"It's a lie—a spiteful invention of a cast-off mistress!"
"She never was your mistress!"