“You shall never meet Jimmy again. I shall prevent it.”
“How can you?”
“You’re not fit to be with him.”
“But you have molded me into what I am. He must get accustomed to his own mother’s handiwork.”
“Jimmy can’t bear you. He told me so when he was last here. He detests you.”
“Ah!” said Dion, with sudden savagery, springing up from his chair. “So you and he have talked me over! I was sure of it. And no doubt you told Jimmy he was right in hating me.”
“I never discussed the matter with him at all. I couldn’t prevent his telling me what he felt about you.”
Dion had become very pale. He stood for a moment without speaking, clenching his hands and looking at her with blazing eyes. For a moment she thought that perhaps he was going to strike her. He seemed to be struggling desperately with himself, to be striving to conquer something within him. At last he turned away from her. She heard him twice mutter the name of her boy, “Jimmy! Jimmy!” Then he went away from her to the far end of the room, where the piano was, and stood by it. She saw his broad shoulders heaving. He held on to the edge of the piano with both hands, leaning forward. She stayed where she was, staring at him. She realized that to-night he might be dangerous to her. She had set out to defy him. But she was not sure now whether, perhaps, gentleness and an air of great sincerity might not be the only effective weapons against him in his present abnormal condition. Possibly even now it was not too late to use them. She crossed the room and came to him swiftly.
“Dion!” she said.
He did not move.