"For her good—and especially now. You refuse to consider how you are injuring her. An advantage has fallen into her life, and you must wilfully deprive her of it."
"An advantage! Darkham do you mean? As for that," said Dillwyn,
"I am not depriving her of an advantage. I am saving her from"— he paused—"misery. Agatha!" He laid his hands on her shoulders and held her back from him, and studied her a moment. It was a sweet study. "You believe me?"
"I believe you always!"
She clung closer to him, and looked with a strange sort of sad defiance over her shoulder at Mrs. Greatorex.
"The matter is not ended yet," said the latter. "I beg, Dr. Dillwyn, that you will leave me. And you, Agatha,—you—-"
"Oh, do not be so angry with me," cried the girl, thrusting Dillwyn from her, and running to the woman who had befriended her so long, and catching her in her strong young arms, and holding her. She was mistaken—wrong. She would hurry her into a marriage that meant death to her—but she did not know. Agatha at that moment assured herself that Mrs. Greatorex could not know. "Aunt Hilda, think—think—-"
"Of what?"
"Of how much nicer Jack is than Dr. Darkham," said she.
"I never spend my thoughts on absurdities," said Mrs. Greatorex.