"I suppose she may do as she pleases about that."
"Do you mean to make her your wife?" asked Mrs. Hurtle sternly.
"Does Mr. Paul Montague mean to make you his wife?" rejoined Sir Felix with an impudent swagger. He had struck the blow certainly hard enough, and it had gone all the way home. She had not surmised that he would have heard aught of her own concerns. She only barely connected him with that Roger Carbury who, she knew, was Paul's great friend, and she had as yet never heard that Hetta Carbury was the girl whom Paul loved. Had Paul so talked about her that this young scamp should know all her story?
She thought awhile,—she had to think for a moment,—before she could answer him. "I do not see," she said, with a faint attempt at a smile, "that there is any parallel between the two cases. I, at any rate, am old enough to take care of myself. Should he not marry me, I am as I was before. Will it be so with that poor girl if she allows herself to be taken about the town by you at night?" She had desired in what she said to protect Ruby rather than herself. What could it matter whether this young man was left in a belief that she was, or that she was not, about to be married?
"If you'll answer me, I'll answer you," said Sir Felix. "Does Mr. Montague mean to make you his wife?"
"It does not concern you to know," said she, flashing upon him. "The question is insolent."
"It does concern me,—a great deal more than anything about Ruby can concern you. And as you won't answer me, I won't answer you."
"Then, sir, that girl's fate will be upon your head."
"I know all about that," said the baronet.
"And the young man who has followed her up to town will probably know where to find you," added Mrs. Hurtle.