She waited for him to speak, expecting violence. For some
moments--in vain. Except in so far as his quick-breathing silence, his look
of dry, hollow-eyed exasperation spoke--more piercingly than words.
"Well, Arthur," she said, at last, "I have been expecting you for some
time."
"I have been trying to put the mischief you have done me straight," he
said, between his teeth.
"I have done you no mischief that I know of. Won't you come and sit down
quietly--and talk the whole matter over? You can't imagine that I desire
anything but your good!"
His laugh seemed to give her physical pain.
"Couldn't you take to desiring something else, mother, than my 'good' as
you call it? Because, I tell you plainly, it don't suit my book. You have
been meddling in my affairs!--just as you have always meddled in them, for
matter of that! But this time you've done it with a vengeance--you've done
it _damnably_!" He struck his hand upon a table near. "What right had
you"--he approached her threateningly--"what earthly right had you to go
and see Enid Glenwilliam yesterday, just simply that you might spoil my
chances with her! Who gave you leave?"
He flung the questions at her.
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