ting and unscrupulous, as I’d always known her.
“You can’t see her,” she said desperate-like. “She doesn’t want to see you. You went and left her and never wrote, and she knew you weren't worth fretting over, and she has learned to care for a better man.”
“I did write and I think you know that better than most folks,” said Owen, trying hard to speak quiet. “As for the rest, I’m not going to discuss it with you. When I hear from Phillippa’s own lips that she cares for another man I’ll believe it — and not before.”
“You'll never hear it from her lips,” said I.
Isabella gave me a venomous look.
“You'll not see Phillippa until she is a better man’s wife,” she said stubbornly, “and I order you to leave my house, Owen Blair.”
“No!”
It was Mark Foster who spoke. He hadn’t said a word; but he came forward now, and stood before Owen. Such a difference as there was between them! But he looked Owen right in the face, quietlike, and Owen glared back in fury.
“Will it satisfy you, Owen, if Phillippa comes down here and chooses between us?”
“Yes, it will,” said Owen.
Mark Foster turned to me.
“Go and bring her down,” said he.
