He had thrown himself back in it with a violence which threatened wreck and ruin.
“How should I know what to think?” he growled, moodily. “He comes three times a week and stays till eleven o’clock. And they sit alone in the sitting-room and talk, talk, talk about— Oh, I don’t know what they talk about! The price of quahaugs, maybe.”
“Maybe.” She glanced at him and smiled. “You go away and leave them there together, then, do you, Foster?” she said. “Well, that is pretty nice of you, I must say. And, perhaps, kind of hard to do, too.”
He stirred uneasily and scowled. “Did you think I was likely to hang around and listen at the keyhole?” he demanded.
“Not the least little bit. I know you.... Well, let me ask you a plain question. Suppose she and Bob Griffin did get to be something more than friends; what would you do then?”
His big body straightened. “Do!” he repeated. “If you mean what would I do if she proposed to marry that scamp. I’ll tell you without any if, and, or but. I’ve told you before. I wouldn’t let her do it.”
“She might do it without your lettin’.”
“Then, by the Almighty, she could do without me, too. If she left my house to marry him she should stay out and never come back.... But she wouldn’t. She isn’t that kind.... Here! what the devil are you shaking your head about?”
“Oh—well, I was just thinkin’.”
“Stop thinking, then! Don’t be a fool, Reliance! Why, that girl has told me fifty times that she thinks as much of me as if I was her own father. She talks about how kind I’ve been to her and how she never can pay me back and all that. Do you suppose that is all lies? Do you think she’d throw me over for that—that Cook calf? Don’t be a fool, I tell you. Look here! What is this all about? Do you want her to marry him?”