‘Are you going?’ says Wyndham, addressing her directly.
‘No, no,’ breathes she from between her frozen lips. She takes a step forward. ‘Don’t let me go,’ says she.
‘Certainly I shan’t let you go,’ says Wyndham, with the utmost cheerfulness. ‘As a fact, indeed, I forbid you to go. I have excellent authority for looking after you.’
‘What authority?’ asks Moore, who has now struck a most aggressive attitude upon the gravel path. ‘I shall question that. You to talk of authority! Why, I tell you that you, and such as you, cut a very bad figure in a court of law.’
‘Never mind that, my man,’ says Wyndham. ‘I have no time now for impromptu speeches. May I ask what claim you have on this young lady?’
‘I am her rightful guardian,’ says Moore, ‘and I shall exercise my rights. Open that gate, or it will be the worse for you. You talk of claims! What claim have you? Is she your wife or your——’
Wyndham, who is now as white as Ella herself, turns to her:
‘Go away,’ says he quickly; ‘go at once.’
‘Hah! you don’t like her to hear it,’ cries Moore, now in a frenzy, as Ella, only too glad to get back into the beloved house, runs quickly towards the Cottage. He would have intercepted her flight, but Wyndham prevents him.
‘But if not your wife, what is she? Your mistress?’