He lied so clumsily that even my innocent and horrified mother could not believe him. But Mr. Dowries tried to make out that he believed Paul.
“Listen to that, Mary!” he blustered. “Did you ever hear of such depravity—such viciousness? A plot to ruin my boy in your eyes—a cowardly plot!”
“It is no plot, Mr. Downes, and you know it,” I said. “But I am going to use the circumstance to a purpose which for some time I have longed to accomplish. You and Paul will leave my mother’s house—and leave it at once!”
“Clinton!” gasped mother, seizing my hand.
“There, Madam!” cried Mr. Downes, furiously. “He has just as good as admitted it is a conspiracy. Nefarious! He has invented this story——”
“Mr. Downes,” I interrupted, my anger rising, “you have done everything you could to prejudice mother against me. Is it any wonder that I desire to see the last of you and your precious son?”
“Clinton! Clinton! My dear son,” mother begged. “Don’t be so passionate.”
“I never was more calm in my life,” I responded, firmly. “But these two shall not stay in our house another night, mother.”
She burst into tears. Mr. Downes stepped nearer and his sneering look would have enraged me at another time. But I felt that I had the whip-hand and held myself in.
“Fortunately,” he said, “your will, young man, is not law here. It is not in your power to put us out of your mother’s home.”