“Why, my dear Clytie, you can come if you like,” said her husband, drawing back his chair from the table. “Only you won't find much fun in a little shooting-box in the middle of a glen in the Highlands. Look: you go and see your people for a month, and then, if you like, you can come and join me there—that is to say, if Carteret has any of his women folks staying in the house, which does not seem to be quite settled yet. If he hasn't, naturally you can't come.”
“In that case I shall not go to Durdleham—I couldn't. You would not understand why. I shall stay in London, and mind the house.”
“I should not like you to do that,” said Thornton.
“Why not?”
“Because I had rather you did not,” he repeated, with a gathering frown.
“How long do you contemplate being away?” asked Clytie quietly.
“August and September, perhaps—I can't quite tell yet.”
“Do you propose, then, that I should go and stay in Durdleham for two months with my people?”
He had not contemplated it, but he was irritated at her show of opposition. He lost his temper and said sharply:
“Yes. Or with any other friends you like. I am not going to have you remain here all by yourself.”