"I want to see Harmony," he said without preface.
Peter eyed him. He knew what had happened, had expected it when
the bell rang, had anticipated it when Harmony told him of Mrs.
Boyer's visit. In the second between the peal of the bell and his
opening the door he had decided what to do.
"Come in."
McLean stepped inside. He was smaller than Peter, not so much
shorter as slenderer. Even Peter winced before the look in his
eyes.
"Where is she?"
"In the kitchen, I think. Come into the salon."
McLean flung off his coat. Peter closed the door behind him and
stood just inside. He had his pipe as usual. "I came to see her,
not you, Byrne."
"So I gather. I'll let you see her, of course, but don't you want
to see me first?"
"I want to take her away from here."
"Why? Are you better able to care for her than I am?"
McLean stood rigid. He had thrust his clenched hands into his
pockets.
"You're a scoundrel, Byrne," he said steadily. "Why didn't you
tell me this this afternoon?"
"Because I knew if I did you'd do just what you are doing."
"Are you going to keep her here?"
Peter changed color at the thrust, but he kept himself in hand.
"I'm not keeping her here," he said patiently. "I'm doing the
best I can under the circumstances."
"Then your best is pretty bad."
"Perhaps. If you would try to remember the circumstances,
McLean,--that the girl has no place else to go, practically no
money, and that I--"
"I remember one circumstance, that you are living here alone with
her and that you're crazy in love with her.
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