“What—go?”
“Yes—I shall go back to Mr. Menaida to-day.”
He stamped, and his face became blood-red. “You shall not. I will it—here you stay.”
“It cannot be,” said Judith, after a moment’s pause to let his passion subside. “You are not my guardian, though very generously you have undertaken to be valuer for me in dilapidations. I must go, I and Jamie.”
He shook his head. He feared to speak, his anger choked him.
“I cannot remain here myself, and certainly I will not let Jamie be here.”
“Is it because of last night’s foolery you say that?”
“I am responsible for my brother. He is not very clever; he is easily led astray. There is no one to think for him, to care for him, but myself. I could never let him run the risk of such a thing happening again.”
“Confound the boy!” burst forth Coppinger. “Are you going to bring him up as a milk-sop? You are wrong altogether in the way you manage him.”
“I can but follow my conscience.”