“Go out! Leave this house, or I’ll do you an injury.”
That fellow to talk of injuries! Did he know how near his throat was to being scragged?
“A trustee,” he said, “embezzling trust property! A thief, stealing his cousin’s wife.”
“Call me what you like. You have chosen your part, we have chosen ours. Go out!”
If he had brought a weapon Soames might have used it at that moment.
“I’ll make you pay!” he said.
“I shall be very happy.”
At that deadly turning of the meaning of his speech by the son of him who had nicknamed him “the man of property,” Soames stood glaring. It was ridiculous!
There they were, kept from violence by some secret force. No blow possible, no words to meet the case. But he could not, did not know how to turn and go away. His eyes fastened on Irene’s face—the last time he would ever see that fatal face—the last time, no doubt!
“You,” he said suddenly, “I hope you’ll treat him as you treated me—that’s all.”