Gresley, "to forbid her most solemnly
when she comes back to-morrow to publish that book."
"She does not come back to-morrow, but this evening," said the young
wife; and pushed by some violent, nameless feeling which was too strong
for her, she added, "She will not obey you. When has she ever listened
to what you say? She will laugh at you, James. She always laughs at you.
And the book will be published all the same."
"It shall not," said Mr. Gresley, coloring darkly. "I shall not allow
it."
"You can't prevent it," said Mrs. Gresley, her breath coming quickly.
She was not thinking of the book at all, but of the writer. What was a
book, one more or one less? It was her duty to speak the truth to her
husband. His sister, whom he thought so much of, had no respect for his
opinion, and he ought to know it. Mr. Gresley did know it, but he felt
no particular satisfaction in his wife's presentment of the fact.
"It is no use saying I can't prevent it," he said, coldly, letting his
arm fall by his side. He was no longer thinking of the book either, but
of the disregard of his opinion, nay, of his authority, which had long
gravelled him in his sister's attitude towards him. "I shall use my
authority when I see fit, and if I have so far used persuasion rather
than authority, it was only because, in my humble opinion, it was the
wisest course.
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