"There!"
And now my Mary, who had stood upright breasting these successive
surges, spoke her little fury.
With a hand she swept the table, sending the coins flying this way and
that--with them a card salver, a vase, a pile of prayer-books. With
her little foot she banged the floor.
"I would not touch your money--your beastly money. You are
contemptible and vulgar, and I despise you. Mr. Chater, if you are a
man you will tell your mother why you were thrashed. Do you dare to
say you interfered because you found me with someone? Do you dare?"
With masterly strategy Bob drove home a flank attack. To have affirmed
he did dare might lead to appalling outburst from this little vixen.
He said very quietly, as though moved by pity: "Please do not make
matters worse by blustering, Miss Humfray." He sighed: "I bear you no
ill-will."
My poor Mary allowed herself to be denuded of self-possession. His
words put her control to flight; left her exposed. Tears started in
her eyes. She made a little rush for the stairs. "Oh, you coward!" she
cried. "You coward! I will make you say the truth."
Would she have clutched the skirts of his dressing-gown, forgetting
the proper modesty of a nice maiden, and dragged him down the stairs?
Would she indelicately have pursued him to his very bedroom, and
there, regardless of his scanty dress, have assaulted him?
Bob believed she would.
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