"_My_ work?" her father said.
"Yes, yours. You couldn't rest till you'd got the poor boy out of your
office, and now you've turned him out of the house. I suppose you thought
that with Mark going you'd better make a clean sweep. It'll be Roddy
next."
"I didn't turn him out of the house. But it was about time he went. The
young cub's temper is getting unbearable."
"I daresay. You ruined Dan's temper with your silly
tease--tease--tease--from morning till night. You can't see a dog without
wanting to make it snap and snarl. It was the same with all the children.
And when they turned you bullied them. Just because you couldn't break
Mark's spirit you tried to crush Dan's. It's a wonder he has any temper
left."
Emilius stroked his beard.
"That's right. Stroke your beard as if nothing mattered but your
pleasure. You'll be happy enough when Mark's gone."
Emilius left off stroking his beard.
"You say I turned him out of the office," he said. "Did he stay with
Edward?"
"Nobody could stay with Edward. You couldn't yourself."
"Ask Victor how long he thinks he'll keep him."
"What do you mean, Emilius?"
He didn't answer. He stood there, his lips pouting between his moustache
and beard, his eyes smiling wickedly, as if he had just found out he
could torment her more by not saying what he meant.
"If Dan went to the bad," she said, "I wouldn't blame him. It would serve
you right.
"Unless," she added, "that's what you want."
And she began to cry.
She cried as a child cries, with spasms of sobbing, her pretty mouth
spoiled, stretched wide, working, like india-rubber; dull red blotches
creeping up to the brown stains about her eyes. Her tears splashed on to
the fine, black silk web of the sock and sparkled there.
Emilius had gone from the room, leaving the door open. Mary got up and
shut it. She stood, hesitating. The helpless sobbing drew her, frightened
her, stirred her to exasperation that was helpless too. Her mother had
never been more intolerably dear.
She went to her. She put her arm round her.
"Don't, Mamma darling. Why do you let him torture you? He didn't turn Dan
out of the office. He let him go because he can't afford to pay him
enough."
"I know that as well as you," her mother said surprisingly.
She drew herself from the protecting arm.
"Well, then--But, oh, what a brute he is. _What_ a brute!"
"For shame to talk that way of your father. _You've_ no right. You're the
one that always goes scot-free."
And, beginning to cry again, she rose and went out, grasping Mark's sock
in her convulsive hand.
"Mary, did you hear your mother say I bullied you?"
Her father had come back into the room.
"Yes," she said.
"Have I ever bullied you?"
She looked at him steadily.
"No. You would have done if Mamma had loved me as much as she loves Mark.
I wish you had. I wish you'd bullied the life out of me. I shouldn't have
cared. I wish you'd hated me. Then I should have known she loved me."
He looked at her in silence, with round, startled eyes. He understood.