"What do you mean by it?" The swiftness, the intensity of the utterance held the voice level thus far, but the break came with the next words, and the speech ended in a wail.
"What do you think to gain by coming here—by hounding me—by hounding me?"
Ewing constrained himself to quiet, with an impulse to soothe this inexplicable fury.
"Please sit down, won't you? You were going to criticise my drawings, you know. You suggested it a moment ago, and I thought—" He took up a portfolio of sketches from one of the open trunks.
"Your trash! What's that to me? Do you think to pass this off? You've learned effrontery in a fine school. Come to the point. What can you make by this indecency—this——"
Ewing's look checked him—something genuine in his bewilderment.
"Come," began Teevan again, "is it possible you're no one, after all, instead of being less than no one? You know me, don't you?"
"Of course I know you; Mrs. Laithe introduced us."
"Oh, don't juggle. You can't swagger it off with me. You shall not hound me or mine."
"Hound?" Ewing sought for light, still trying to subdue this absurd assailant.