Agar, "will you hear your mother called names?"
"We will not wrangle," said Dora, rising with something very like a smile
on her face. "Yes, if you want to know, it _was_ Jem. I have only his
memory, but still I can be faithful to that. I don't care if all the
world knows; that is why I told _you_ behind the door. I am not ashamed
of it. I always did care for Jem."
There was a little pause, for mother and son had nothing to answer. Dora
turned to take her gloves, which she had laid on a side table, and as she
did so the other door opened, the principal door leading to the hall.
Moreover, it was opened without the menial pause, and they all turned in
surprise, knowing that there were only servants in the house.
In the doorway stood Jem, brown-faced, lean, and anxious-looking. There
was something wolf-like in his face, with the fierce blue eyes shining
from beneath dark lashes, the fair moustache pushed forward by set lips.
Behind him the keen face of Seymour Michael peered nervously, restlessly
from side to side.
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