"I had every right," said Lady Coryston, calmly. "I am your mother--I
have done everything for you--you owe your whole position to me. You
were ruining yourself by a mad fancy. I was bound to take care that
Miss Glenwilliam should not accept you without knowing all the facts.
But--actually--as it happens--she had made up her mind--before we met."
"So she says!--and I don't believe a word of it--_not--one--word_! She
wanted to make me less mad with you. She's like you, mother, she thinks
she can manage everybody. So she tried to cram me--that it was Glenwilliam
persuaded her against me. Rot! If you hadn't gone and meddled, if you
hadn't treated her like dirt--if you hadn't threatened to spoil my
prospects, and told her you'd never receive her--if you hadn't put her
back up in a hundred ways--she'd have married me. It's you--you--
_you_--that have done it!"
He threw himself on a chair in front of her, his hands on his knees,
staring at her. His aspect as of a man disorganized and undone by baffled
passion, repelled and disgusted her. Was this her Arthur?--her perfect
gentleman--her gay, courteous, well-behaved darling--whose mingled docility
and good breeding had, so far, suited both her affection and her love of
rule so well? The deep under-sense of disaster which had held her all day,
returned upon her in ten-fold strength.
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