“I shall count on it!”—pressing her hand.
He turned away. “Well, son, are you ready? I’ve made an engagement for you for to-night.”
But Jack sprang to Mary’s side, and seized in both of his the hand his father had just relinquished. His handsome if weak face was working with indignant, protesting passion; for the moment he was strong and sincere and fine to the capacity of his nature.
“Mary, I’m not going to stand for this! I’m not going to leave you in this way—I’m not that kind of a rat!”
“We’re going to do just as your father says, Jack,” she said with quiet dominance, her face very pale. “What he suggests is wisest for us all.”
Jack stared at her; he could not read whether there was subterfuge or utter finality in her words. But whatever her purpose, he recognized that in this situation her way had to be his. His figure slumped down, and he turned about.
“Put into a suitcase whatever you may need at once; you can send for your other things,” said his father, and pressed him through the door. “Mary, after a few minutes in the next room with me, Mr. Clifford will return for a talk with you. For myself this must be good-night.”
“Good-night.”
Bowing, he went out. As Clifford—mere audience—followed him, he saw that Mary stood unchanged: stiffly erect, and pale and composed—though he had a sense that her dark eyes were unnaturally wide.