“So you've bested me,” he said in an angry whisper. “You held the cards, I know. I did n't think you would use them. I wish you joy.”
A sudden flash of pain and indignation lit Jimmie's eyes.
“Good God, man! Have you sunk so low as to accuse me of that? Me?”
He turned away. Morland caught him by the sleeve.
“I say—” he began.
But Jimmie shook him off and went to the side of Norma, who was listening to her mother's opening attack. It was shrill and bitter. When she paused, Norma said stonily:
“I am not going home with you to-night, mother. I sleep at Connie's. She will not refuse me a bed.”
“Your father means what he says.”
“So do I, mother. I can manage pretty well without your protection till I am married. Then I sha'n't need it.”
“Pray whom are you going to marry?” asked Mrs. Hardacre, acidly.