But
we shall arrange something." She might have resented his tone. She might
have impulsively defended herself. But she did not. She accepted his
attitude with unreserved benevolence. Her gaze was marvellously
sympathetic.
"I can't make out what your father's got against me," said George
angrily, building his vexation on her benevolence. "What have I done, I
should like to know."
"It's simply because you lived there all that time without him knowing
we were engaged. He says if he'd known he would never have let you stay
there a day." She smiled, mournfully, forgivingly, excusingly.
"But it's preposterous!"
"Oh! It is."
"And how does he behave to _you_? Is he treating you decently?"
"Oh! Fairly. You see, he's got a lot to get over. And he's most
frightfully upset about--his wife. Well, you saw him yourself, didn't
you?"
"That's no reason why he should treat you badly."
"But he doesn't, George!"
"Oh! I know! I know! Do you think I don't know? He's not even decent to
you. I can hear it in your voice. Why should you go back and live with
him if he isn't prepared to appreciate it?"
"But he expects it, George. And what am I to do? He's all alone. I can't
leave him all alone, can I?"
George burst out:
"I tell you what it is. Marguerite. You're too good-natured.
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