Part 42 (1/2)
She woke late to find her mother bending over her, and lifting her arms she drew the gray head down to her soft, young bosom and penitently said: ”Mamma, forgive me. I am sorry I spoke as I did. I am not angry this morning, but I am determined. We must go away from here this very day.”
The mother did not at once reply, but when she spoke her voice trembled a little. ”I guess you're right, dearie. This house seems like a prison to me this morning. But what troubles me most is this: Why do Maynard and father permit us to stay here? I am afraid of Mr.
Pratt--everybody says he will make us trouble, and yet our dear ones urge us to remain.”
”Mamma,” gravely replied Viola, ”I want to tell you something that came to me this morning. I wonder if _what grandfather says is not made up of what Pratt and Anthony want_?”
”What do you mean, child?” asked the mother, sitting back into a chair and staring at her daughter with vague alarm.
”I mean that--that--grandfather, strong as he seems to be, is influenced in some way by Tony. He goes against my wishes and against your wishes, but _he never goes against Tony's_.”
The mother pondered. ”But that is because Tony is content to follow _his_ will.”
The girl lost her firm tone. ”I know that interpretation can be given to it, but to-day I _feel_ that it is the other way, and, besides, it may be that grandfather doesn't realize all our troubles.”
The mother rose. ”It's all very worrisome, and I wish some change would come. I dread to meet Mr. Pratt, but I suppose I must.”
”Don't go down. I don't intend to see him again if I can avoid it.
Ring for your coffee and take your breakfast here with me this morning.”
”No. That would only make him angry. I'll go down.”
”I don't care what he says, mamma, I shall do as I like hereafter.”
With this defiant reply ringing in her ears, Mrs. Lambert went slowly down the stairs to find the master of the house, sullen, sour, and vindictive, breakfasting alone in his great dining-room. As she timidly entered he looked up from his toast with a grunt of greeting, and Mrs. Lambert, seeing that his resentment still smouldered, stopped on the threshold pale with premonition of a.s.sault. She would have fled had she dared to do so, but the maid drew a chair for her, and so she seated herself opposite him in silence.
”Where's that girl?” he asked, harshly.
”She's not feeling very well this morning, so I told her she needn't come down to breakfast.”
He grunted in scorn. ”What happened over there last night? Everybody seems upset by it. I want to know all about it. You had a sitting, did you?”
”Yes.”
”Whose idea was that--Clarke's?”
”No, father wanted to speak with Dr. Serviss and Dr. Weissmann.”
”Weissmann was there, was he? What did _he_ say?”
”He seemed impressed.”
”What happened?”
”Father came, as usual--”
”I mean what happened outside the seance? Something set that girl against me and upset Clarke. I want to know what it was.”
”I don't think anything was said of you at all.”
”Yes, there was. You can't fool me. Somebody warned that girl against me. The whole thing seems funny to me.” (By funny he meant strange.) ”You go away from my house for a dinner against my will--leave me in the lurch--and come home at one o'clock in the morning with faces that would sour milk, and now here you are all avoiding me this morning. It just convinces me that if we're going to carry on this work together we've got to have a definite understanding. You've got to stop going to such houses and giving seances without my permission. I won't have that under any conditions.”