“Did you wish anything particular of me, papa? If not, I think it would be better not to keep lunch waiting any longer,” she said gently, though with an evident effort at self-control.
“Do I want anything of you? I would like to give you a wholesome shaking for what you have done to-day.”
She lifted her head, and encountered his two blazing, angry eyes, her own glance clear, steadfast, and unflinching.
“You are a wilful little—fool!” he said, nettled by her calm demeanor, and almost beside himself with rage.
Still she said nothing, and he instantly grew ashamed of those last words.
“You have no idea how angry you have made me to-day,” he said, half apologetically.
“I have no desire to make you angry, sir. I only desire and intend to do right,” she answered, quietly.
“Intend! Is that a threat?”
“No, sir—merely a statement of a fact.”
“And refers to what you said just before Mr. Felton went out?”