You can't
deny that I have a right to be satisfied with that reparation."
"Certainly; anything in reason. It is for you to name the terms; I
expect you to make them--adequate."
"Let us go back a moment," she began, smiling at the care with which he
had chosen his last word. "Last night I fought out for myself the whole
matter of your scoundrelly, cowardly treatment of my mother. You can
make no reparation to her. The time passed long ago for that. And there
is absolutely nothing you can do for me. I will accept nothing from you,
neither the name you denied to her nor money, now or later. So there is
only one other person whose interest or whose happiness we need
consider."
He stared at her frowning, not understanding. Once more, as on that day
when she had laughed at him, or again when she had taken the affairs of
his own household into her hands, he was conscious of the strength that
lay in her, of her power to drive him back upon himself. Something of
his own masterful spirit had entered into her, but with a difference.
Her self-control, her patient persistence, her sobriety of judgment, her
reasoning mind, were like his own. She was as keen and resourceful as
he, and he was eager for the explanation she withheld, as though,
knowing that she had driven in his pickets, he awaited the charge of her
lines. He bent toward her, feeling her charm, yielding to the
fascination she had for him.
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