“I shouldn’t try!”
“What?” She looked at me sharply. “Ah! You agree? You feel the same? You think I dare?”
“I do. I go a step further, and say it’s your duty. He is a bully, and probably no one has ever dared to show him how he appears to other people, but for the time being you are in command; while he is here, he is supposed to obey. Give it to him hot and strong! Tell him that he is injuring himself, and is a misery to every one else—that you are only keeping him, because it would do him harm to be removed.”
“It’s true!” she cried. “It’s every word true. The man is a miasma.” She stared at me in sudden amaze. “Why do you laugh?”
“Oh, I was just thinking! Thinking of a man whom I used to denounce as bad-tempered! A dear, kind, thoughtful, unselfish Englishman with a—a bluster! I can never call it temper again, after knowing Mr Travers! He has taught me a lesson.”
She laughed, too, and shrugged her shoulders.
“Oh, that! I like a man with a will of his own, and the pluck to speak out. A ‘bluster,’ as you call it, clears the air, and is quite a healthful influence; but this other!— Well, Miss Harding, you have given the casting vote. When are you coming again?”
“Thursday afternoon, I think. Mrs Travers is busy then. Has to go out of town.”
“That’s all right! Then I’ll have it out with him before lunch, and leave you to calm him down in the afternoon.”
“Oh—mean!” I cried, but she only laughed, opened the door, and hustled me into the hall. Evidently her mind was made up.