Mrs. March could not tell him. It was not merely his blasphemies. There seemed to be more hope of sympathy from the damaged ceiling, and she moaned up to it,
"My son a Radical!"
He sprang to his feet. "Mother, take that insult back! For your own sake, take it back! I hadn't a thought of politics. If my words implied it they played me false!"
Mrs. March was anguished wonder. "Why, what else could they mean?"
"Anything! I don't know! I was only trying to blurt out what I've been thinking out, concerning our private interests. For I've thought out and found out—these last few days—more things that can be done, and must be done, and done right off with these lands of ours——"
"O John! Is that your swift revenge?"
"Why, mother, dear! Revenge for what? Who on?"
"For nothing, John; on widowed, helpless me!"
"Great Scott! mother, as I've begged you fifty times, I beg you now again, just tell me what to do or undo."
"Please don't mock me, John. You're the dictator now, by the terms of the will. They give you the legal rights, and the legal rights are all that count—with men. I'm in your power."