He scowled at the door that shut off the music box and its persistent operator.
“Night after night my poor old father sits there in his office alone, white and sick and weak and——”
“I’ve seen a poor old father sit up nights, too,” he broke in, “and he was sitting up fighting off mortgages and executions and bills of sale let loose on him by your father before he tucked himself away on his bed of down. Don’t let us get to comparing fathers, Sylvena! It will not be profitable.”
His tone was harsh and his eyes flashed.
“But it’s my father,” she cried, “and I’ll fight for him. It’s well to know who all our enemies are. I was shocked and disappointed, Phineas, when you——”
“Not one word about that affair—not a word from you!” he commanded. “You can tell me nothing that I don’t know and understand.”
She paused stammeringly, frightened by his heat. After a moment she rose and pushed back her chair.
“If I am to class you with your brother,” she began, but he checked her again by a furious exclamation. He stood up and threw upon his chair the soft hat that he had been crumpling between his broad palms. The music box kept on its monotonous tune.
“That’s enough about my brother—enough!” he cried. “You are bound to have it that he is the man who has made your father sleepless and old, and childish and haggard. You are facing Hime Look—the Look family, as though it were your only enemy, when the wolf is behind you, Sylvena, behind you!”
His voice was so intense that she cast a look over her shoulder instinctively.