“Oh, a little longer! Send him to me. He never comes to me, now. He will if you send him. I’ll help you, Tom.”
She stopped. She saw the folly of her outburst. Was there not war between them? He was there with his irony.
“What have you, really, against our friendship? There is something unreasonable in this. What is it? Of course, I shall send him to you. I promise that.”
Never had she seen him so contained before her. He was winning. A flourish and a dare in his promise to send him. She pressed her lips with hands that had been almost suppliant before her brother. She would accept his ironic bounty: turn it against him. Many a battle was lost through excess of confidence. She could not answer his questions.
“You talk, positively, Sister, as if I were ruining the lad,—instead of slowly bringing him up.”
“Bringing him up to what?”
“Well, to what? I ask you?”
“Tom, I cannot explain. There is something here I cannot explain. I want David to be free of you. That is all.”
“So you can have him?—is that all?”