His father was speaking more clearly--shouting each word by itself.

"You understand what I say, Christine. Either you do what I tell you,
or you get out of here; and, by God, this time you shan't come back.
You'll never set eyes on him again."

"I shall always take care of Robert. I promised Constance when she was
dying. She begged of me----"

"It's a lie--a damned lie! You're not fit to have control over my son.
You can't be trusted. You're a bad friend----"

"I have done all I can. I have told you there is only one thing
left--to sell this house---start afresh."

"Very well, then. That's your last word--and mine."

Suddenly it was still. The stillness was more terrible than anything
Robert had ever heard. He gulped and turned like a small,
panic-stricken animal. At the bottom of the stairs against the light
from the kitchen he could see the bailiff's bulky, honest shadow.

"Look 'ere, little mister, what's wrong up there? Anything I can
do----"

The silence was gone. It was broken by the overturning of a chair, by
a quiet, sinister scuffling--Edith's voice whining, terrified, thrilled
by a silly triumph.

"Don't--don't, Jim. Remember yourself----"