“I’ll tell you, Mr. Hattersley,” said I. “She was crying from pure shame and humiliation for you; because she could not bear to see you conduct yourself so disgracefully.”
“Confound you, Madam!” muttered he, with a stare of stupid amazement at my “impudence.” “It was not that—was it, Milicent?”
She was silent.
“Come, speak up, child!”
“I can’t tell now,” sobbed she.
“But you can say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ as well as ‘I can’t tell.’—Come!”
“Yes,” she whispered, hanging her head, and blushing at the awful acknowledgment.
“Curse you for an impertinent hussy, then!” cried he, throwing her from him with such violence that she fell on her side; but she was up again before either I or her brother could come to her assistance, and made the best of her way out of the room, and, I suppose, up-stairs, without loss of time.
The next object of assault was Arthur, who sat opposite, and had, no doubt, richly enjoyed the whole scene.
“Now, Huntingdon,” exclaimed his irascible friend, “I WILL NOT have you sitting there and laughing like an idiot!”