With one crushing glance William left her.
He went to the drawing-room, where his sister Ethel was knitting a jumper and talking to a friend.
“And I heard her say to him——” she was saying. She broke off with the sigh of a patient martyr as William came in. He sat down and glared at her. She exchanged a glance of resigned exasperation with her friend.
“What are you doing, William?” said the friend sweetly.
“Nothin’,” said William with a scowl.
“Shut the door after you when you go out, won’t you, William?” said Ethel equally sweetly.
William at that insult rose with dignity and went to the door. At the door he turned.
“I wun’t stay here now,” he said with slow contempt, “not even if—even if—even if,” he paused to consider the most remote contingency, “not even if you wanted me,” he said at last emphatically.
He shut the door behind him and his expression relaxed into a sardonic smile.
“I bet they feel small!” he said to the umbrella-stand.