Don't forget that this
is your last year of school. I advise you to make the most of it."
"I've asked Mr. Ogilvie to prepare me for confirmation," said Mark, who
was determined to goad his uncle into losing his temper.
"Then you deserve to be thrashed."
"Look here, Uncle Henry," Mark began; and while he was speaking he was
aware that he was stronger than his uncle now and looking across at his
aunt he perceived that she was just a ball of badly wound wool lying in
a chair. "Look here, Uncle Henry, it's quite useless for you to try to
stop my going to Meade Cantorum, because I'm going there whenever I'm
asked and I'm going to be confirmed there, because you promised Mother
you wouldn't interfere with my religion."
"Your religion!" broke in Mr. Lidderdale, scornful both of the pronoun
and the substantive.
"It's no use your losing your temper or arguing with me or doing
anything except letting me go my own way, because that's what I intend
to do."
Aunt Helen half rose in her chair upon an impulse to protect her brother
against Mark's violence.
"And you can't cure me with Gregory Powder," he said. "Nor with Senna
nor with Licorice nor even with Cascara."
"Your behaviour, my boy, is revolting," said Mr. Lidderdale.
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