“But you needn’t have risked your own life by taking off your sealskin and coming home in that flimsy thing,” he said, with a smile. “Even St. Martin didn’t do that.”
“Do you know,” she replied, with a charming viciousness, and leaning over the table, “I consider St. Martin one of the meanest characters in history!”
Some time after lunch, the servant came into the smoking-room and announced that Mr. Jackson had called.
“He’s a very horrid-looking man, ma’am,” she remarked.
“I’ll go and settle him,” said Hugh, rising.
“No. Let me. I shall enjoy it,” replied Irene.
And she departed, with the light of battle in her eyes. She met the man in the hall. He began to bluster. Hugh, by a turn of the passage, stood an unobserved spectator.
“You’re not going to have the child back,” said Irene.
“Then I’ll have compensation,” said the man.
“I’m not going to give up my wife’s flesh and blood for nothing. ’Tain’t likely—we’re poor folks and the kid earns a little.”