“I am Mrs. Crosbie’s niece, and, in her absence, do what I know she would desire.”
“Mrs. Crosbie’s niece!” repeated the man. “So Mrs. Crosbie rules this castle! Where is the squire?”
Miss Charteris moved away a little.
“I shall answer no more questions,” she said, quietly. “I must request you to go away at once.”
“There spoke George Charteris!” muttered the stranger, as if to himself.
Vane started; she could hardly believe her ears. This shabby man to mention her father’s name! It was extraordinary, and not pleasant.
“I do not know who you are,” she said, with marked irritation; “but you have heard what I said, and you take no notice of my words. It now remains for the servants to see if they will be more successful.”
“Softly, softly, my young lady!” said the man, putting his hand on her arm. “You are much too hasty, and, like all intemperate spirits, judge by appearances only. How do you know whether I have business here or not—whether my visit may not be that of a friend?”
“Friend?” echoed Miss Charteris, sarcastically, at the same time hurriedly drawing her arm from his touch.
“I see,” continued the stranger, half closing his eyes, and fixing her with a look which annoyed and fidgeted her. “I see you count Squire Crosbie’s friends by the cut of their coats. Stay; let me convince you that people are not always what they seem.”