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Alfred Inglethorp with a croquet mallet. But it was absurd of John to make
such a fuss about it, and to go shouting out: "I tell you I won't have it!"
I woke up with a start.
At once I realized that I was in a very awkward predicament. For, about
twelve feet away from me, John and Mary Cavendish were standing facing
each other, and they were evidently quarrelling. And, quite as evidently, they
were unaware of my vicinity, for before I could move or speak John repeated
the words which had aroused me from my dream.
"I tell you, Mary, I won't have it."
Mary's voice came, cool and liquid:
"
"
Have you any right to criticize my actions?"
It will be the talk of the village! My mother was only buried on Saturday,
and here you are gadding about with the fellow."
"
Oh," she shrugged her shoulders, "if it is only village gossip that you mind!"
"But it isn't. I've had enough of the fellow hanging about. He's a Polish Jew,
anyway."
A tinge of Jewish blood is not a bad thing. It leavens the"--she looked at
"
him--"stolid stupidity of the ordinary Englishman."
Fire in her eyes, ice in her voice. I did not wonder that the blood rose to
John's face in a crimson tide.
"Mary!"
"
Well?" Her tone did not change.
The pleading died out of his voice.
"Am I to understand that you will continue to see Bauerstein against my
express wishes?"
"If I choose."
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