"There isn't any Peter's mother——"
"My poor man, have I touched on painful ground?" She placed a kind hand on William's head. "Poor little orphan Peter," she murmured softly. "How long ago was it since she wrote to me?"
"There isn't any Peter," shouted the man, like one distraught. "There isn't any Peter's mother. There isn't any Peter. There isn't any Peter's mother. There's only ME, and you've nearly throttled me, and you've nearly suffocated me, and you've nearly knifed me, and would you mind going away? I don't know who the boy is," he went on, following her gaze, "except that he's some young ruffian trespassing in my garden, and who'll make my life a misery for the next few weeks till he kills himself or me, or I kill him or myself——"
Miss Rubina Strange, baffled for the first time that afternoon, sat down weakly.
"But I don't understand," she said.
When she did understand, she did not sweep out of the room in disgust as he had hoped she would. Instead, she looked at him with bright eyes.
"But how wonderful of you," she said. "Of course, I will keep your dear secret. What sympathy and understanding of a woman's heart you have shown! It's all the more wonderful that you are a man. And we are friends, are we not?—old friends. We must have a chat." She looked round the room. "Let me tidy up a little first. Ah, the room needs a woman's touch.... Then we will have a talk. There are so many things I want to ask and to tell you—ours will be a very beautiful friendship...."
Mr. Monkton Graham threw a pathetic and pleading look at William.
"You may stay a little ..." he said.
"Thanks," he said coldly, "I'd rather go jus' now. You won't forget those things you promised me, will you?"