‘But do consider the facts of the case, independently of feeling.
I really think I don’t go too far in saying that at least some—some provocation was given by you first of all. I am so very, very far from wishing to say anything disagreeable—I am sure you feel that—but wasn’t there some little ground for complaint on Amy’s part? Wasn’t there, now?’
Reardon was tortured with nervousness. He wished to be alone, to think over what had happened, and Mrs Yule’s urgent voice rasped upon his ears. Its very smoothness made it worse.
‘There may have been ground for grief and concern,’ he answered, ‘but for complaint, no, I think not.’
‘But I understand’—the voice sounded rather irritable now—‘that you positively reproached and upbraided her because she was reluctant to go and live in some very shocking place.’
‘I may have lost my temper after Amy had shown—But I can’t review our troubles in this way.’
‘Am I to plead in vain?’
‘I regret very much that I can’t possibly do as you wish. It is all between Amy and myself. Interference by other people cannot do any good.’
‘I am sorry you should use such a word as “interference,”’ replied Mrs Yule, bridling a little. ‘Very sorry, indeed. I confess it didn’t occur to me that my good-will to you could be seen in that light.’
‘Believe me that I didn’t use the word offensively.’