"Will you see that you can't have him?" he stamped the syllables into her ears: and, with a notion of there being a foreign element about her, repeated:—"No!—not have him!—not yours!—somebody else's!"
This was clear enough.
"Only you can separate us," said Emilia, with a brow levelled intently.
"Well, and I"—Mr. Pole was pursuing in the gusty energy of his previous explanation. His eyes met Emilia's, gravely widening. "I—I'm very sorry," he broke down: "upon my soul, I am!"
The old man went to the mantel-piece and leaned his elbow before the glass.
Emilia's bosom began to rise again.
She was startled to hear him laugh. A slight melancholy little burst; and then a louder one, followed by a full-toned laughter that fell short and showed the heart was not in it.
"That boy Braintop! What fun it was!" he said, looking all the while into the glass. "Why can't we live in peace, and without bother! Is your candle alight, my dear?"
Emilia now thought that he was practising evasion.
"I will light it," she said.