"You will."
"Oh, no, I won't; nor will you tell Gladys those unkind things about me and my father."
"Who the devil's going to stop me?"
"I'm the devil who's going to stop you."
Rodney was leaning a little forward. His uncle stopped in the process of wiping his brow to stare at him, as if there were something in his manner which struck him as peculiar. About the young gentleman's lips was the same easy, unconcerned smile which had been there all the time; there was a smile also in his eyes--it was, apparently, this latter which gave him the odd expression which had struck his uncle. Mr. Patterson glanced about him as if in search of something he would have liked to find. Rodney sat perfectly still. As he put a query to him his uncle's pursy lips showed a tendency to twitch.
"How are you going to stop me?"
"Can't you guess how I am going to stop you?"
"I can do nothing of the kind. You can't stop me, or anyone. I am going to do my duty to my daughter and to society, and nothing can stop me."
"You know better than that. From something which has just come upon your face I can see that already you know better."
Mr. Patterson gave what he doubtless meant to be a spring towards the alarm bell opposite; but, for reasons which were beyond his control, his movements were slower than they should have been--the younger man was much too quick for him. Gripping him again by both his shoulders, exerting greater strength than on the first occasion, he forced him back upon his seat with a degree of violence which seemed to drive the sense half out of him. As Rodney, remaining on his feet, stood towering above him, one perceived more clearly that his was the build of the athlete, and how great were the probabilities, if they came to grips, that the big man would be helpless in his hands. He addressed his uncle as an elder person might have spoken to a mutinous child.