'Frightens you! That fellow—that fellow!'
'Yes; he asks me questions.'
'He never shall do so again. Is he in the drawing-room?'
'Yes; but, father, you cannot speak to him now, there are people in the drawing-room.'
'I don't care who's there.'
'No, father, no; I beg of you. Mother will never forgive me…. Father, you mustn't make a scene. Father, you cannot go to the drawing-room in those clothes,' and in desperate resolve, Agnes threw herself between the Major and the door, pressing him back with both hands.
'They think me a sheep, I have been a sheep too long, but they shall see that even the sheep will turn to save its lamb from the butcher. I'll go to them, yes, and in these clothes—Agnes, let me go.'
'I want you to speak to Mr. Moulton…. But not now, this is not the time.'
He tried to push past her, but she resisted him, and sat down in front of his type-writing machine, pale and exhausted, the sweat pearling his bald forehead.
She tried to calm him and to induce him to understand the scandal he would make if he were to go down to the drawing-room, dressed as he was. But her words did not seem to reach the Major's brain. He only muttered that the time had come to put his house in order. Agnes answered, 'Father, for my sake … not now.' But he must obey the idea which pierced his brain, and before she could prevent him he slipped past her and opened the door.