"'Ark to Mister Pride-before-the-Fall!"
Rage now possessed him. He had promised himself that he would keep his temper, and deal drastically but calmly with a clever knave and a pretty noodle. But Susan's attitude had blown to the wind such excellent resolutions. Perhaps the dominant idea in his mind was to get Susan alone, to vindicate himself in her eyes. He believed honestly that this abominable affair had distracted her poor wits. Obviously, the first step towards an understanding with Susan was the settlement of this preposterous James Miggott. He nerved himself for a knock-out blow. In James's eyes, set a thought too close together, he fancied that he read derision and defiance. He heard James's quiet voice:
"I am quite able to support a wife."
"Are you? Does that mean, my lad, that you're ready to marry her against my wish, without my consent?"
"I counted on your consent, sir."
"You answer my question. You're in love with Posy for herself—hey? You'd take her as she stands?"
James answered firmly but respectfully:
"Yes."
Poor Quinney! He had expected hesitation, a craven retreat from a false position, glib expostulation—any reply except this stark "Yes." The blow stunned him. He heard Posy's joyful voice:
"Oh, Jim, you are a darling! I was never quite—quite sure till this blessed minute!"