“Please do not speak of Sir Harold,” she said. “My heart tells me that he will come back to me some day.”
“Well, my lady,” proceeded Mr. Worboys, “it amounts to this: If you refuse to wed Viscount Rivington you will lose a fortune of nearly half-a-million sterling and an income of ten or twelve thousand a year.”
“I have my private fortune,” she reminded him.
“A paltry five hundred a year,” he told her, “and even that is under the control of your guardians until you are of age.”
“It appears that I am practically bound hand and foot,” she said, bitterly. “Must I submit to these people?”
She stood erect, with flashing eyes, and deathly-white face—a pathetic figure in her loneliness.
“Cannot you help me, Mr. Worboys?”
“The law will not permit of my interference, my lady. Now, look at matters on their brightest side. Within one year you will be of age and your own mistress. You are determined to lose your fortune rather than marry Viscount Rivington. No one can legally force you into this marriage, and if undue pressure is brought to bear upon you, then I may be able to step in to your assistance. What manner of woman is this Lady Gaynor?”
“I do not like her,” Elaine replied. “I do not know why, but we were never upon friendly terms. Had my father lived I believe that he would have made Lady Gaynor the Countess of Seabright.”
The old lawyer was silent for a little while, then he glanced at the girl pityingly and said: