HE’D LET GO of Molly’s arm as they came to the trail, not realising how blindly she was walking until she stumbled and he reached quickly forward, catching her before she fell.
“Watch it. Easy, girl.”
“I can’t bear it, Spig. I just can’t bear it! We’ll buy the place . . . if it ruins us, if we’re in debt the rest of our lives, we’ll buy it! But she can’t take Molly A.! She can’t! Oh, I hate her!”
She broke away from him and ran wildly along the trail. He started after her and stopped, letting her go on alone. Her voice had been so passionately like Tip’s, threatening Dunning in his garden, that the old question, “I know who his father is but who’s his mother?” was startlingly answered. And no laughing matter, as he’d once thought it was . . . the passionate anger and the golden tiger in
