“He hates you for a cause; he wants you to be good all round.”
“That I can never be; goodness is mawkish.”
“And who is his mother, Adrian, and why, why are you cruel to her?”
Rowton grasped Nancy’s wrist again.
“Do you really think I am?” he said.
“No, I don’t,” she said with white lips, for his grasp was so firm, so fierce, that she could scarcely help wincing at the pain.
It relaxed at her words and his features wore a smile.
“That is good, little woman,” he said; “if you believe in me, all the rest of the world may think as it pleases.”
“But who is the boy’s mother?”