He pushed her away from him, and she slid to the grass at his feet and lay there giggling, with her sun-bonnet fallen back from her hair. Zeus Gildersedge eyed her with mingled approbation and disfavor. He had bartered his dignity long ago, for the woman had made him her equal in dragging him to her own level. They understood each other in a coarse, abusive fashion, and were comrades of a common cult.
“Where’s Joan?” said the man, fingering his chin, while his colorless eyes shone out from his bloodless face.
“Don’t know. ’Tain’t no business of mine, though you let her gad over the country like a gypsy. You’re a fool, Zeus Gildersedge. Nice sort of father you make.”
“Joan can look after herself.”
“So can every woman till she lights on a man.”
Zeus Gildersedge shifted in his chair.
“Balderdash!” he said, with tightened lips. “The girl has pride enough to choke most men. She’s no bib-and-tucker baby.”
“A woman’s a woman, bib or no bib,” retorted the servant.
Zeus Gildersedge took ten drops of opium in a tumbler of claret, frowning as he sipped it down.
“You’re a nice bit of goods to lecture me on education.”