'I daresay. Will you promise never to marry him?'
As Mr Prothero asked this question, he looked Gladys full in the face.
She blushed again, but returned his gaze with a quiet, grave look that seemed to wonder at the question. She did not reply at once, and Mr Prothero repeated it, louder than before, with the additional one of 'Do you hear, girl?'
'Sir, I don't like to make promises,' said Gladys; 'suppose the temptation to break it ever came, and proved too strong for me. I might perjure myself.'
'Then you mean to marry my son Owen?'
'No, sir, I don't think I shall ever marry him. As far as I can see now, I am sure I never shall.'
'Name o' goodness, what does the girl mean? You don't mean to marry him, and yet you 'ont promise—what do you mean?'
'I scarcely know myself, sir. But I cannot tell what God may appoint for me in the future, and so I cannot make a solemn promise.'
'Then I 'spose you're going to run off like Netta?'
'No, sir, never.'