"Yes," she cried, turning on him like a small fury, with the book
tightly held in both hands; "I'm not a child to be dictated to and
ordered to do this and that. I'm perfectly well able to act for
myself and I intend to do so now and always. I'm sick of your eternal
fault-finding, and the sooner you know it the better. If it's not one
thing it's another. Nothing I do is right and I'm about tired of it."

John Chetwynd sat perfectly silent under this tirade. He was a shrewd
man, and he knew that Bella had been spending the evening with her
own people, and jumped at once to the conclusion that in defying him
she was acting by their advice, and his brow grew black and lowering.

Then he looked up at Bella, who, a little ashamed of her vehemence,
was slowly unbuttoning her gloves, having laid aside the unlucky
cause of the battle royal.

"My wife," he said kindly, "if you will not act on my advice, let me
beg of you to think twice before accepting that of others, since I at
least may be credited with having your real good at heart."

"And you think that--you mean to imply that--"

"That your sister has her own ends to serve? Undoubtedly I do."

"You are all wrong--all wrong." But the tell-tale blushes on Bella's
face showed him plainly enough that he had been right in his
conjecture, and had to thank his wife's relatives for her rebellion
and newly developed obstinacy and resentment.