"I have been warned," said Mr. Merrick, reluctant, yet with redoubled dignity.
Maurice's smouldering nerves struck to flame, and an ugly illumination glared at him. "This can be no one but Angela," he said.
It was difficult to keep dignity under eyes that seemed to take him by the throat; in the struggle to look firmly back Mr. Merrick was silent.
"Come. Own to it. The venomous liar!" Maurice added in a low voice, studying the revelations of the other's wrathful helplessness.
"I have no wish to deny it, and I must forbid you to speak in that manner of a woman who honours you by calling you her friend."
"I know Angela better than you do," Maurice laughed. His fury almost passed away from its derivative object.
"The fact remains that people talk, and that truest kindness warned me of it."
"If people talk it's she who makes them. I've known--ever since I married her--that Geoffrey loved Felicia." Maurice flung him the truth scornfully.
"I know my friend, and honour him, as you don't seem to know or honour your daughter."
"I know human nature as you don't seem to know it. It's a dangerous intimacy. I insist on my right to protect my daughter."
"You insult her by claiming such a right. Don't speak to me of this again." Maurice, as he said it, grew suddenly white with a new thought. "And never dare," he added, turning eyes that quelled even Mr. Merrick's fully-armed championship, "never dare tell Felicia that you have discussed her with that woman."
"You may be sure that I would not expose Lady Angela to Felicia's misconception."
Mr. Merrick, in his realized helplessness, cast about him for some retaliatory weapon. He seized the first that offered itself. "And since my meaning as Felicia's father seems gone, I had better go myself. I am not needed, since you say so, by either of you."
It was the idlest threat. In utter astonishment he heard Maurice answering, "I've thought more than once of suggesting it. By all means."
"I will remain with Felicia while you are away."
"I will leave directly after your return."
"When you will." Maurice's voice was quieter. The unexpected prospect of relief mollified him. "It's a pity, for Felicia will suffer, but she herself must see that it doesn't do. You have made life too uncomfortable for both of us. And after this! Well, you've made things impossible. For a time you had better realize what your daughter is away from her, realize how little she needs any one's protection. It's settled then; you go, on my return."