Part 44 (2/2)
”Oh that I could tell her!” he said to himself. ”She pretends; she is untrue-untrue as our first mother. What woman was ever yet to be trusted?”
”Go, Sylvia,” he replied vehemently; and he started up and shook her off cruelly, so that she fell and hurt herself.
She rose, pushed her hair back from her forehead and gazed at him in bewilderment. Was he going mad?
”Come and eat your dinner before it gets cold,” she said. ”It is extravagant to waste good food; come and eat it.”
”Made from some of those old fowls?” he queried; and a scornful smile curled his lips.
”Come and eat it; it costs you practically nothing,” she added. ”Come, it is extravagant to waste it.”
He pondered in his own mind; there were still about three fowls left. He would not take her hand but he followed her into the dining-room. He sat down before the dainty dish, helped her to a small portion, and ate the rest.
”Now you are better,” she said cheerfully.
He gave her a glance which seemed to her to be one of almost venom.
”I am going into my sitting-room,” he said; ”do not disturb me again to-day.”
”But you must have a fire!”
”I decline to have a fire.”
”You will die of cold.”
”Much you care.”
”Father!”
”Yes, Sylvia, much you care; you are like the one who gave you being. I will not say any more.”
She started away at this; he knew she would. She was patient with him almost beyond the limits of human patience, but she could not stand having her mother abused.
He went down the pa.s.sage, and locked himself in his sitting-room.
”Now I can think,” he thought; ”and to-night when Sylvia is in bed I will bury the last canvas bag.”
When Sylvia went into the kitchen Jasper asked her at once what was the matter. She stood for a moment without speaking; then she said in a low, broken-hearted voice:
”Father sometimes gets these moods, but I never saw him as bad before.
He refuses to have a fire in the parlor; he will die of this cold.”
”Let him,” muttered Jasper under her breath. She did not say these words aloud; she knew Sylvia too well by this time.
”What has put him into this state of mind?” she asked as she dished up a hot dinner for Sylvia and herself.
”It was my dress, Jasper; I ought not to have allowed you to make it for me. I ran in to put it on to go to church on Sunday; and he saw me and drew his own conclusions, as he said. He asked me where I got it, and I refused to tell him.”
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