"Good morning, Mr. Marston."
Julia was surprised at the steady tones in which she responded to his salutation. She had feared a quiver would run through the words.
"I believe an apology is due you," resumed Marston, "before I inquire the cause of this visit. I'm glad to see you, you know."
He paused a moment to gloat openly over her face and figure. The girl felt herself grow colder before his bold gaze, but said nothing.
"That da—that dog was called to his breakfast, and took a fancy to my dinner, which was on a shelf near. Of course I tried to get it away from him, and in the chase we ran into you. But I haven't welcomed you to my home yet; shake hands with me!"
He advanced to her side and held up his hand.
For a moment a mist swam before Julia's eyes, and she hesitated. All the hateful story which her father had told her rose up in detail, and she felt that to touch this monster would blast her. But she had come to sue for a favour—really to demand justice, but it meant the same thing. She could not afford to affront him, or anger him, if she could help it. She bent and placed her gloved hand in his, silently. He held it in a firm, fierce grasp until she forcibly withdrew it. His little, pig-like eyes were flaming with a different emotion from that which had possessed them a moment ago.
"Come—get down," he said, hoarsely. "You have come to call and I want to receive you in my house. I will get a boy to hold your horse."
He looked at her with hungry cunning as he spoke, and the proud spirit of the Dudleys within her rebelled.
"I shall not dismount," she said, backing The Prince a few steps ere she was aware of what she was doing. "My business here can be told briefly, and I haven't time to stay."