She seemed to concentrate her power of will into a supreme and final effort, and then she shrank back into a fauteuil—conquered. Her husband laughed, and continued:
“You see you cannot contrive it. No, madame, it won’t do. So, if you take my advice, I would not try it again. You see it just riles me, and I am not a nice man to rile. I love and respect all ladies, but I have a sharp and short way of reckoning with snakes. See?”
She was silent for a moment and then burst into a hysterical laugh. “There,” continued her husband, “you notice you are unhinged. It is not good for you, this kind of excitement. And now tell me, how is Ronny? Why did he not come down to give his uncle good-morning before I started for business to-day?”
“Ronny has gone,” replied Lucille shortly.
“Gone,” exclaimed the Senator. “Why, where have you sent him?”
“That is my business,” returned Mrs. Clutterbuck. “Surely I have a right to do what I please with my own nephew.”
“Nephew,” echoed he. “Whew!”
“Have you any reason for questioning the relationship?”
“Well, no,” replied her husband, stroking his beard; “but it strikes me for so near a relative, the lad does not seem to care particularly about you. Why, I do believe he likes me better than he does you.”
“Ronny has bad taste.”