He wanted his way, and he meant, provided it was humanly possible, to have whatever he wanted.
"It isn't that, George.

Love has nothing to do with it.

It is a question of right." For a minute he surveyed her moodily; then, rising from her side on the sofa, he took two steps to the window and looked up at the boughs of the poplar tree.

The gray squirrel was still there, and he watched it attentively while he pondered his answer.

Yes, the whole trouble with Gabriella was too much conscience.