"That was it, that was
it!" cried Seymour Michael, grasping at the straw which might serve to
turn the current aside from himself.
But the attempt failed. No one took any notice of it. Jem was looking at
Dora, and she was looking anywhere except at him.
It was Jem who spoke, with the decisiveness of the president of a
court-martial.
"That will come afterwards," he said. "And now, perhaps," he went on,
turning towards Seymour, "you will kindly explain why you broke your word
to me. Explain it to these l---- [sic.] to Miss Glynde."
Seymour Michael shrugged his shoulders.
"Why, what is the good of making all this fuss about it now?" he
explained. "It has all come right. I acted as I thought best. That is all
the explanation I have to offer."
"Can you not do better than that?" inquired Jem, with a dangerous
suavity. "You had better try."
Dora was looking at Jem now, appealingly. She knew that tone of voice,
and feared it. She alone suspected the anger that was hidden behind so
calm an exterior.
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