“You are. You’ll be obliged to,” retorted Clotilde.
“I wonder,” said Marie, “whether Mr Elbraham is going to buy you of aunties, and if so, how much he is going to give.”
Clotilde faced round at this sting.
“If you think I’m going to marry him, or if aunts think so, they are mistaken!” she cried. “I know what I am going to do. I know something that you would give your ears to know, my lady.”
She looked mockingly at her sister, and waved her hand, as if wafting a kiss through the air.
Marie did not respond, but there was something in her eyes that troubled Ruth, who, being near, laid her hand in a sympathetic fashion upon her arm.
A summons from Markes put a stop to further conversation.
“What is it, Markes?” cried Clotilde.
“Aunts want you,” said the woman roughly. “Gentlemen visitors;” and before she could be further questioned she closed the door.
“I know,” cried Clotilde, darting a malicious glance at her sister: “it’s Captain Glen, and he has brought his little squire with him. Come along down, and speak to Richard Millet, while I talk to the Captain. I say, Rie, dear.”