He smiled. “What else, oh, mine enemy?” he asked.
“Everything;” Margaret threw out both hands with a gesture which seemed to appeal to earth and heaven; “a blind fool, Bobby! You love her, she probably loves you, and yet you stand by and let her go! Fool, fool!” Margaret drew her brows down, her cheeks flaming:
“‘He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,
Who fears to put it to the touch,
To win or lose it all!’”
she quoted defiantly.
Allestree lighted another cigarette. “My dear Margaret,” he said, “let me show you this sketch of my mother.”
Margaret bit her lip and stood watching as he turned over two or three sketches. As he did so her quick eye caught familiar outlines. “So, that is Lily Osborne?” she said, with a hard little laugh; “I’m not sensitive, Bobby, let me see it. Did you know the latest gossip about her?”
Allestree shook his head. “Spare me!” he said smiling.