Chris became in an instant as red as she had been white before.
“Have you been listening?” she asked, impulsively.
“Sh-sh, Christina,” said her mother’s reproving voice.
But the intruder answered with great meekness:
“Well, I did hear what you were saying when I came in; and what’s more, I’m very glad I did, for you were making a statement which it’s my business to disprove. You were saying that somebody was not mad. Now, of course, you mean my unhappy ward, Richard.”
“Your unhappy ward!” retorted Chris, with spirited emphasis. “Yes, I do mean him.”
“You think he is not mad?”
“Not mad enough to be shut up, at any rate.”
He seemed taken aback by the girl’s boldness and straightforwardness, and he did not immediately answer, but left Mrs. Abercarne time to read her daughter a little lecture on the impropriety of her present behaviour, which, she said, was only the sequel to be expected to her conduct in deceiving her mother. Chris began to look distressed, but, before she could answer this accusation, Mr. Bradfield broke in:
“Never mind what she says, Mrs. Abercarne. She’s only a foolish girl, and it’s lucky we’ve found out this affair before he’s found an opportunity of dashing her silly brains out. He’s been worse than usual the last few days, and I’m expecting some sort of dangerous outbreak every day. Let us be thankful things have gone no further.”