"You know I shan't do that," replied Iris quietly, "and that you are safe in giving me the permission. But I'll tell your father."
"Pooh! What does that matter? He won't speak to Darcy: he's too anxious for me to marry the man; I told you that this afternoon."
"He will be very angry," cried Iris in despair.
"Let him be angry!" returned the dutiful daughter; "he can't kill me!"
"O Milly! Milly! Why can't you behave in a more honourable manner? If you love Mr. Lovel, break off the match with Mr. Herne."
"And let you have your chance!" sneered Milly, tossing her head. "No, thank you, dear."
"Then stop flirting with Mr. Lovel and be true to your future husband."
Milly laughed, shook her head, and busied herself with threading a needle. "My future husband," said she slowly; "h'm! perhaps I won't marry him after all."
"Then you intend to accept Mr. Lovel?"
"No, I intend to do nothing. But Gran Jimboy read my hand this afternoon, and she prophesied that I should marry neither."