“I can’t waste my minutes palavering,” said Sir Roderick, irritable as he recognised his utter helplessness. “I read you like a book. I wanted you for Lilia.”
Hugh started, and flushed. The room seemed to sway and reel; he hardly knew whether he was shocked, hurt, delighted, or horrified. The possession of Lilia had been, so to say, hinted to him by his inclinations as something he might possibly dare to aspire to in the future. To have his ideal, as it were, snatched at, pounded together, and shot at him in this fashion was like being physically assaulted. He felt mentally wounded, but did not realise how or where.
“I see you know what I mean,” went on the dying man. “You blush like a girl. Love is nonsense. But you have a passion for her——”
“I love her!” interrupted Hugh. “I would not have dared—if you had not spoken.”
A dreadful chuckle from the sick man seemed to freeze Hugh. If Sir Roderick would only refrain from that ghastly, rattling laugh!
“You say you love her, but that you would not have dared—what bosh! Hamlet, you would be a bad witness. Never mind. The question is—to be, or not to be? Will you marry Lilia, or not?”
What a position! He was utterly unprepared, too. For some moments he hardly knew what to do or say; then he felt he must fight Sir Roderick’s eccentricity for her sake.
“What would your daughter say?” he asked, gently. “You must not dispose of her. No one has a right to dispose of another. Of course, I would ask her to marry me, if I thought she wished it.”
“Of course she wishes it!” gasped Sir Roderick.
His eyes shone with excitement; cold beads were on his pale forehead.