“Nonsense, Gloria. Be serious, my child. You may respect this young man, who has grown up on the estate; you may understand and respect him in his proper place, as much as you please; but if you make a companion of him, who is to understand you?—not to ask, who is to respect you, my dear?”
“Uncle!” exclaimed Gloria, flushing to the very edges of her radiant hair. “Uncle! Is it making a companion of David Lindsay to have him row me in a boat where I wish to go?”
“Yes, Gloria, decidedly so, when the boat is his own and he takes you to his own home.”
“How dreadfully you put the case, uncle!” exclaimed the girl, crimson with humiliation.
“I put it truly, dear Gloria,” answered the colonel, pursuing his advantage unsparingly. “I put it truly. You will injure yourself irreparably by such eccentric unconventionality. My poor child, it is your mother who should instruct you in all these matters, not a profane heathen of a man; only unfortunately you have no mother, and so you must even be guided by so poor a counsellor as myself.”
“I do not see what harm can come of my going to see Dame Lindsay in her grandson’s boat.”
“No, you do not see; but others will, my child, and they will criticise you. Objectionable attachments have been formed and improper marriages contracted before now between ladies of rank and men of low degree, and you——”
“Sir! I PROTEST against this talk!” she indignantly interrupted. “To whom do your remarks point? To me? To David Lindsay? Do you dare to suppose, Colonel de Crespigney, that I should ever dream—that he would ever think of—oh! what an odious thought is in your mind! Never do you dare, sir, to hint such a thing to me again!”
“I hope never to have the occasion, my dear,” coolly replied the colonel.
“Detestable, revolting, abhorrent, odious! Oh! that you should dare to hint such a humiliation to me! I can never forgive you for it, Colonel de Crespigney! I feel more, much more than offended! I feel insulted, dishonored, humiliated! I do!” cried Gloria, vehemently.