“I am sure you are not, but tell me where he is waiting for you?”
“Waiting! What idle fancy is this? Have I not already told you that I am going to see the chevalier? What more do you require?”
“You shall not go to meet Chanet! I say you shall not!” she cried, vehemently.
“Who will prevent me if I am so disposed?”
“I will.”
“You will! Why, my dear Theresa, surely you do not mean me to understand that I am to act under the control of you. By what right do you assume this position?”
“By what? By the right of my love—my love for you, wild, hopeless as it is—my love that hangs upon your life, though it may be as the drowning wretch who clings to a spar that will but lengthen his torment and desert him at last.”
“I am not complimented by the simile. It is not at all likely that I should desert you. Be reasonable, dearest. I have an appointment, and as a gentleman and a man of honour I must keep it.”
While this conversation had been taking place both the earl and Theresa had walked side by side, not very rapidly, it is true, but nevertheless, every step they took brought them nearer to the house in which the chevalier was located.
Theresa Trieste saw plainly enough that the earl was not to be turned from his purpose; entreaties and arguments were alike in vain—so she continued to walk by his side, in the hope of discovering if her suspicions were correct.