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"
Anna's words, too!
"Look here, Marion," he said, roughly, "you've got to do one of two
things. Either marry me or let me go."
"Let you go! I like that. If that is how you feel?"
"Oh - don't." He threw up his arm. "I want you. You know that.
Marry me - to-morrow."
"I will not. Do you think I'm going to come into this family and
have you cut off? Don't you suppose I know that Clayton Spencer
hates the very chair I sit on? He'll come and beg me to marry you,
some day. Until then?"
"You won't do it?"
"To-morrow? Certainly not."
And again he felt desperately his powerlessness to loosen the coils
that were closing round him, fetters forged of his own red blood,
his own youth, the woman-urge.
She was watching him with her calculating glance.
"You must be in trouble," she said.
"If I am, it's you and mother who have driven me there."
He was alarmed then, and lapsed into dogged silence. His anxiety
had forced into speech thoughts that had never before been
articulate.


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