"Well," said the old man.
"And I remember you told me then that you were much pleased."
"So I was. George was doing well then; or,—which is more likely,—had made us believe that he was doing well. Have you made it up with him again?"
"Yes, sir."
"And that's the meaning of your jilting Mr. Grey, is it?"
Poor Alice! It is hard to explain how heavy a blow fell upon her from the open utterance of that word! Of all words in the language it was the one which she now most dreaded. She had called herself a jilt, with that inaudible voice which one uses in making self-accusations;—but hitherto no lips had pronounced the odious word to her ears. Poor Alice! She was a jilt; and perhaps it may have been well that the old man should tell her so.
"Grandpapa!" she said; and there was that in the tone of her voice which somewhat softened the Squire's heart.
"Well, my dear, I don't want to be ill-natured. So you are going at last to marry George, are you? I hope he'll treat you well; that's all. Does your father approve of it?"
"I have told you first, sir;—because I wish to obtain your consent to seeing George again here as your grandson."
"Never," said the old man, snarling;—"never!"