"Stop!" said Mr. Finch, elevating his right hand. "My good creature, you are in a state of hysterical precipitation. I will be heard! I did more than refuse my consent. When the man Grosse—I insist on your composing yourself—when the man Grosse came and spoke to me about it, I did more, I say, infinitely more, than refuse my consent. You know my force of language—don't be alarmed! I said, 'Sir! As pastor and parent, My Foot is down'——"
"I understand, Mr. Finch. Whatever you said to Herr Grosse was quite useless; he entirely ignored your personal point of view."
"Madame Pratolungo——!"
"He found Lucilla dangerously agitated by her separation from Oscar: he asserted, what he calls, his professional freedom of action."
"Madame Pratolungo——!"
"You persisted in closing your doors to Nugent Dubourg. He persisted, on his side—and took Lucilla to Browndown."
Mr. Finch got on his feet, and asserted himself at the full pitch of his tremendous voice.
"Silence!" he shouted, with a smack of his open hand on the table at his side.
I didn't care. I shouted. I came down, with a smack of my hand, on the opposite side of the table.
"One question, sir, before I leave you," I said. "Since your daughter went to Browndown, you have had many hours at your disposal. Have you seen Mr. Nugent Dubourg?"