“So, so,” said the patroon, trying to soothe her. He only made her worse. In a moment she had risen again and was glowering at him through fierce flashing eyes.
“What have you done?” she cried in a frenzy, snapping and wringing her long, bony fingers. “What have you done for me and mine these twenty years, since you had your fill of pleasure out of me?”
“Tut, tut, Meg, you are wild to-day.”
“Wild I have ever been since you cast me adrift like a gutter drab of Yorke. Tell me what you have done for me and mine.”
Her face grew dark and sullen like an animal’s at bay. The patroon glanced about him and half rose to go; but she clutched his wrist and repeated persistently:
“What have you done? What have you done? What have you done?”
“You know well enough what I have done, my Meg,” said the patroon. He spoke quietly, but I could see that he was in the grip of fear. Was the woman going to make a disclosure? I half expected what it would be, but I did not guess the half.
“But what have you done?” she went on, sticking to her one idea.
“I have done my best, Meg. You know that I could not do it openly, but I have kept him near me; he wants for nothing.”
“Ay, he wants for nothing but his life.”