“He is not here.”
“But he may come.”
“If he came ever so I would not see him if you bade me not. I think you hardly understand me, aunt. I will obey you in everything. I am sure you will not now ask me to marry Mr. Morrison.”
She could not say that Philip would be more likely to become amenable and marry the Cornish heiress if Bessy were away at Avranches than if she still remained shut up at Launay. But that was her feeling. Philip, she knew, would be less obedient than Bessy. But then, too, Philip might be less obstinate of purpose. “You cannot live here, Bessy, unless you will say that you will never become the wife of my son.”
“Never?”
“Never!”
“I cannot say that.” There was a long pause before she found the courage to pronounce these words, but she did pronounce them at last.
“Then you must go.”
“I may stay and nurse you till you are well. Let me do that. I will go whenever you may bid me.”
“No. There shall be no terms between us. We must be friends, Bessy, or we must be enemies. We cannot be friends as long as you hold yourself to be engaged to Philip Launay. While that is so I will not take a cup of water from your hands. No, no,” for the girl was again trying to embrace her. “I will not have your love, nor shall you have mine.”