“Very touching, upon my word,” sneered Dicky, “and very interesting—­if true.”  He almost spat the words out, he was so angry.

“It does not matter to me in the least whether you believe it or not,” I returned frigidly.

Dicky jumped up with an oath.  “I know it doesn’t matter to you.  Nothing is of any consequence to you but this”—­he ripped out an offensive epithet.  “If he is so near and dear to you, it’s a wonder you don’t want to go over and bid him a fond farewell.”

I was fighting to keep back the tears.  As soon as I could control my voice I spoke slowly: 

“The reason why I did not go is because I thought you might not like it.  God knows, I wanted to go.”

I walked steadily to my room, closed the door and locked it and fell upon the bed, a sobbing heap.

“Where are you going?” Dicky’s voice was fairly a snarl as I faced him a little later in my street costume.

“I do not know,” I replied truthfully and coldly.  “I am going out for the rest of the afternoon.  Perhaps you will be able to control yourself when I return.”

It was not the most tactful speech in the world.  But I was past caring whether Dicky were angry or pleased.  I am not very quick to wrath, but when it is once roused my anger is intense.

“You know you are lying,” he said loudly.  “You are going to see this precious-cousin-brother-lover, whichever he may be.”

My fear that Katie or his mother would hear him overcame the primitive impulse I had to avenge the insolent words with a blow, as a man would.

“You will apologize for that language to me when I come back,” I said icily.  “I do not know whether I shall go to bid Jack good-by or not.  I have no idea what I shall do, save that I must get away from here for a little while.  But if you have any sense of the ordinary decencies of life you will lower your voice.  I do not suppose you care to have either your mother or Katie overhear this edifying conversation.”

“Much you care about what my mother thinks,” Dicky rejoined, and this time his voice was querulous, but decidedly lower.  “Fine courteous treatment you’re giving her, leaving her like this when she has been in the house but a couple of hours.”

“Your mother has shown such eagerness for my society that no doubt she will be heartbroken if she awakens and finds that I am not here.”

“That’s right, slam my mother.  Why didn’t you say in the first place you couldn’t bear to have her in the same house with you?”

“Dicky, you are most unjust,” I began hotly, and then stopped horror-stricken.

“What is the matter, my son?” The incisive voice of my mother-in-law sounded from the door of her room.

“Go back to bed, mother,” Dicky said hastily.  “I’m awfully sorry we disturbed you.”

“Disturbing me doesn’t matter,” she said decidedly, “but what you were saying does.  I heard you mention me, and I naturally wish to know if I am the subject of this very remarkable conversation.”