“No,” she said with a stubborn shake of her head, “I’m not through yet.”
“There’s nothing more for you to say unless you want to accept Mrs. Ryan’s offer.”
“Yes, there is, there’s lots more for me to say, but since you seem in such a hurry to get rid of me, I’ll have to wait and say it to your daughter next time I see her.”
She paused, daring and impudently bold. She was a woman of remarkable physical courage, and the old man’s aspect, which might have affrighted a less audacious spirit, had no terrors for her. He stood by the desk, his hands on his hips, the fingers turned toward his back, and his face, the chin drawn in, fronting her with a glowering fixity of menace.
“When do you ever see my daughter?” he asked, the accented pronoun pregnant with scorn.
“Oh, on the streets, in the stores, walking round town. I often meet her. I’ve wanted several times lately to stop and tell her what I think of the way she’s acting. She doesn’t think that I know all about what she’s doing. She’ll be surprised when she hears that I do and what I think about it.”
She faced the old man’s motionless visage with an almost debonair audacity.
“You can offer me money,” she said, “but you can’t muzzle me.”
Cannon, without changing his attitude, replied,
“I can do a good many things you don’t think of. Take my advice, young woman, and muzzle yourself. Don’t leave it for me to do. I’ve had nothing but friendly feelings for you up to this, and I’d hate to have you see what a damned ugly enemy I can be.”