"No—no—," I stammered, as I got up and tardily placed them chairs.
Schofield did not speak, but he did not remove his eyes from me. Somehow
I could not meet them.
"Well," she said, "Jack had already told me that you seemed in two minds about it. That's what we've called about—to know definitely what it is you propose to do."
I saw that she had also called, if necessary, to quarrel. I began to recover a little.
"Did you tell her that?" I demanded of Schofield. "If you did, you—misinterpreted me."
In my house, he ignored the fact that I was in the room. He replied to
Maschka.
"I understood Mr. Harrison to say definitely, and in those words, that if I didn't like the way in which he was writing Michael's 'Life,' I might write and publish one myself," he said.
"I did say that," I admitted; "but I never said that whatever you did I should not go on with mine."
"Yours!" cried Maschka. "What right have you in my brother's 'Life'?"
I quickly told her.