"I hope not, father," she answered, promptly, making no pretence not to understand him. "It takes two to make a quarrel, and--"
"I was going to say that I hoped you wouldn't be."
"I should have to. I'm fighting for liberty, which is always an honorable motive. You're fighting to take it away from me--"
"Which is a dishonorable motive. Very well; I must accept that imputation as best I may, and still go on."
"Oh, then, it is war. You mean to make it so."
"I mean to do my duty. You may call your rebellion against it what you like."
"I'm not accustomed to rebel," she said, with significant quietness. "Only people who feel themselves weak do that."
"I'm very strong. I don't want to measure my strength against yours, father; but if you insist on measuring yours against mine, I ought to warn you."
"Thank you. It's in the light of a warning that I view your action to-day. You probably went to meet Mr. Wappinger."
In saying this his bow was drawn so entirely at a venture that he was astonished at the skill with which he hit the mark.
He pushed back his chair; half rose; sat down again; poured out a glass of Marsala; drank it thirstily; and looked at her a second or two in helpless distress before finding words.
"My motive was entirely honorable. I went to explain to him that I couldn't see him any more--just now."
"While you were about it you might as well have said neither just now--nor at any other time."
"And you promise me that it shall be so?"
"You say that deliberately? Remember, I'm asking you an important question, and you're giving me an equally important reply."
"I recognize that; but I can't give you any other answer."
"We'll see." He pushed back his chair again, and rose. He had already crossed the room, when, a new thought occurring to him, he turned at the door. "At least I presume I may count on you not to see this young man again without telling me?"
"Not without telling you--afterward. I couldn't undertake more than that."
"H'm!" he ejaculated, before passing out. "Then I must take active measures."
It was easier, however, to talk about active measures than to devise them. While Dorothea was sobbing, with her elbows on the dining-room table, and her face buried in her hands, he was pacing his room in search of desperate remedies. It was a case in which his mind turned instinctively to Diane for help; but in the very act of doing so he was confronted by her theories as to Dorothea's need of diplomatic guidance. For that, he told himself, the time was past. The event had proved how impotent mere "management" was to control her, and justified his own preference for force.