“Offended her by my gross want of tact,” thought the viscount.
She crept back, and two velvet lips touched his hand. That was because she had spoken harshly to a friend.
“Oh, Richard,” said she, despairingly, “I'll no be lang in this warld.”
He was touched; and it was then he took her head and kissed her brow, and said: “This will never do. My child, go home and have a nice cry, and I will speak to Jean; and, rely upon me, I will not leave the neighborhood till I have arranged it all to your satisfaction.”
And so she went—a little, a very little, comforted by his tone and words.
Now this was all very pretty; but then seen at a distance of fifty yards it looked very ugly; and Gatty, who had never before known jealousy, the strongest and worst of human passions, was ripe for anything.
He met Lord Ipsden, and said at once, in his wise, temperate way:
“Sir, you are a villain!”
Ipsden. “Plait-il?”
Gatty. “You are a villain!”