"I am growing morbid," she thought, looking at her anxious face in the glass. "To-morrow, when I see Cyril—oh, come in!" said she aloud.
She broke off to give the invitation, as a sharp knock came to the door, and it opened almost immediately to admit the plump figure of Mrs. Coppersley, carrying a tray. "Here's some dry toast and a cup of tea," said the widow severely; "your father says you are not to come to supper."
"I shouldn't come if he wanted me to," retorted Bella, as Mrs. Coppersley set down her burden; "and if he thinks to punish me in this way, he is very much mistaken. Does he think that I am a child, to submit to his tyranny?"
"He thinks that you are a disobedient daughter," said Mrs. Coppersley, drily.
"And what do you think, aunt?"
The older woman coughed. She thought that her niece was much too pretty, and much too independent, but had no ill-feeling toward her, save a natural petty feminine jealousy. "I don't know what to think," she said, sitting down to gossip. "Of course, your father is impossible, and always wants his own way. I don't see why folks should not be allowed to choose husbands for themselves. Jabez"—this was Huxham's Christian name—"objects to my marrying Henry, and to your becoming the wife of this Lister person."
"Don't speak of Cyril in that way," said Bella, with some impatience; "he is a gentleman, and the man I love. By the way, aunt, you might have brought up the teapot. I dislike anyone else to pour out my tea."
"Your father poured it out himself while I went to the kitchen for the toast," snapped Mrs. Coppersley; "he said you were to have only this one cup."
"What a petty tyrant he is," sighed Bella, pushing the cup away. "Aunt, what do you think of Cyril?"
"He is very handsome," rejoined Mrs. Coppersley cautiously, "but I don't know anything about his position or disposition."