“I bring her to you, my sister, asking you—to let her find the refuge and safety of which I have spoken. You will do this for my sake?”
“No!” cried a sharp voice from the door—a voice which sank from time to time in its owner’s excited state, so that her words were only half audible—“No, she will do nothing of the kind. How dare you bring her here to insult the lady to whom you were betrothed?”
Chester turned upon the speaker angrily, but after the first word or two his voice softened down, and he spoke as one suffering deeply from his emotion.
“Aunt, you have no right to speak to me like this. Remember, please, that something is due to me; far more to the lady for whom I ask protection and a welcome.”
“No, no,” whispered Marion. “For pity’s sake take me away from here.”
“No,” said Chester, firmly. “This is my house, and you will stay here. Laura, you heard what I said?”
“Yes, Fred; I heard what you said,” she replied in a cold, unemotional way.
“Then give Miss Clareborough the welcome I ask of my own sister.”
“No!” cried Aunt Grace, angrily.
“Aunt,” said Laura, coldly, “have the goodness to be silent. No, Fred, I cannot do what you say. It is an insult to Isabel and to me to make such a request.”