ugly and lonely, but the place could do her no harm. There was a kind of still intensity about her father which made him dangerous, but Catherine hardly went so far as to say to herself that it might be part of his plan to fasten his hand—the neat, fine, supple hand of a distinguished physician—in her throat. Nevertheless, she receded a step. "I am sure you can be anything you please," she said. And it was her simple belief.
"I am very angry," he replied, more sharply.
"Why has it taken you so suddenly?"
"It has not taken me suddenly. I have been raging inwardly for the last six months. But just now this seemed a good place to flare out. It's so quiet, and we are alone."
"Yes, it's very quiet," said Catherine vaguely, looking about her. "Won't you come back to the carriage?"
"In a moment. Do you mean that in all this time you have not yielded an inch?"
"I would if I could, father; but I can't."
The Doctor looked round him too. "Should you like to be left in such a place as this, to starve?"
