“Bob, I won’t listen to such things.”
“And then, when you did tell him, he saw his little game was up and so he has made up his mind to keep you here. Well, all right, then he can keep me here, too. He isn’t the only one who can change their mind. I’d like to tell him so.”
He strode to the hall door and stood there almost as if determined to follow Foster Townsend to his room and tell him there and then. She was silent for a moment. The things he had said were in exact confirmation of the suspicion voiced by Nabby Gifford and which she had not permitted herself to consider.
“The sly old rat!” he muttered between his teeth. She caught her breath.
“No!” she cried. “No, I don’t believe a word of it.... And even if it were true—which it isn’t—it mustn’t make any difference in your going. You must sail on the Lavornia just as you planned.”
He spoke over his shoulder. “I shan’t,” he vowed, determinedly. “I stay right here.”
“No, you mustn’t do any such thing. I shan’t let you.”
“You can’t stop me.... No, and he can’t either. The scheming old hypocrite!”
She walked to the door now and opened it.
“You had better go home,” she said. “I don’t care to hear you speak in this way any longer. When you are ready to talk and behave like a sensible person you may come back and perhaps I will listen to you. But not until you beg my pardon for saying such things about Uncle Foster.”