“Very well,” he assented, “and you will do so, and have the satisfaction of feeling that it’s all your doing! It isn’t every girl who could pull her father out of the mud as you will do.”
She winced; every word he uttered jarred upon her as it did upon the squire.
“I—I think I will go upstairs,” she said. “I have a headache to-night.”
“Oh,” he said in a tone of disappointment; then he added, with a cunning glance, “Don’t forget you promised to sing that duet with Faradeane.”
Her lips quivered, and she turned her head aside.
“I had forgotten,” she said, simply.
He got up to hide the evil look which crossed his face.
“Yes, you’ll stop to please him, my lady,” he muttered. “But wait a while, wait a while!”
Faradeane and the squire came in, and the former went up to her.
“Will you sing?” he said, “or are you too tired?” he added, quick to notice her pallor and weariness.