The Squire sat up in bed and gasped. "Write and tell you?"
"Yes. I am going away."
"Nonsense! Why should you go away?"
"Mr. Colpster," said Patricia, who had brought the conversation round to this point that she might thoroughly explain herself, "you have been very good to me, and I have been very happy here. But your nephew Theodore has been rude to me; in fact, he has insulted me; so I cannot remain under the same roof with him."
"What?" the Squire's scanty hair bristled and he trembled with rage. "Has that dog of a Theodore been rude? He shall leave my house at once."
"No. That would not be fair. He is your nephew. I shall go."
"I shan't let you go, child. I love you too much to let you go. How did he insult you--what did he say? Tell me and I'll--I'll----" Rage choked his further utterance, and he sank back on his pillows.
His nurse came forward and smoothed the bedclothes. "Don't worry over the matter, Mr. Colpster. It's not worth it."
"It's worth everything when you want to leave. How did Theodore insult you?"
Patricia looked down and sketched out figures with the tip of her bronze shoe. "He is angry because I am engaged to Basil."