The fault was his own, and due to his unsteady hands, but he was wilfully pleased to put her in the wrong. He glowered at her with savage reproach as she moved a little farther away in obedience to his command. She was disconcertingly quiet, and it seemed to him an added injustice to be cheated of a scene. There was nothing but her anguished eyes, and her drooping and utterly dispiriting attitude to tell him how well he was succeeding.
"You're a little fool," he announced inconsequently.
He waited for her to answer, but she made no sign of having heard him, sitting there stricken, numb.
"To have tied up with such a damned goat," he added, with immense conviction.
Still no answer.
"The best thing you can do is to pack up and go," he went on.
At this she did find her voice, ghost of a one that it was.
"Is that what you really want me to do, Cyril?"
"It's what you ought to do," he returned, with a sternly paternal air.
"It's for you to decide."