“Yet you were not looking at him all the time,” she persisted. “You looked at Pauline, too. You don’t hate her, do you?”
He drew a little breath between his clenched teeth. If only this child would hold her peace!
“No!” he said. “I do not hate Lady Marrabel.”
“Is it because he has interfered between us,” she asked timidly, “that you dislike Mr. Rochester so much? Remember that very soon I shall be of age.”
“He has no right to interfere in my concerns at all,” Saton answered, evasively. “Hush!”
The two had halted at a little wooden gate which led into the strip of field dividing the two plantations. Rochester was looking back along the footpath by which they had come. They could hear his voice distinctly.
“Johnson must have got lost,” he remarked, a little impatiently. “I will leave my second gun here for him. It is quite time I took up my place. The beaters will be in the wood directly.”
He leaned one of the guns against the stone wall, and with the other under his arm, opened the gate for Pauline to pass through. They crossed the field diagonally, and came to a standstill at a spot marked by a tiny flag.
All the time Saton watched them with fascinated eyes. The thoughts were rushing through his brain. He turned to Lois.
“Dear,” he said, “I think that you had better run along home. I will come up to the shrubbery after dinner, if you think that you can get out.”