“Indeed, I have!” I returned, smiling, “and I’d take it upon almost any other subject you could name, Mumsie! But you are prejudiced in favor of Mr. Downes.”
“And you are prejudiced against him.”
“I am, indeed,” I admitted. “And am so prejudiced that I do not mean he shall ever interfere in my affairs again.”
“Oh, Clinton!” she cried, “I do not see how you can speak so to me.”
“Now, mother dear,” I said, “I do not mean to be unfilial to you, or ungrateful for your kindness. But Paul Downes tried to stab me last night——”
“Oh!” she cried, and shrank and trembled.
“I hate to annoy you by bringing up such things, but I must show you that they cannot hang around here any more,” I declared, firmly. “Paul hates me; his father has done his best to poison your mind against me. I have been in danger of my life, and in danger of losing your love and trust, through the Downeses——”
“No, no!” she said, to this last.
“I am afraid I am right,” I said. “I know that I have kept away from the house a good deal this summer. I couldn’t stay here and listen to that false man and be annoyed by that great, hulking boy of his. Now, let us be the good friends we always have been when the Downeses are at a distance.”
“Oh, Clinton! my dear boy! I only live for you!” she cried, and began to sob so that I felt condemned to insist. But the occasion was serious. I knew—as Ham had warned me—that Chester Downes was lingering near and would soon attempt to see my mother again.