“Get up, before you put me in a rage,” he yelled. “Now, then, Kate, come here; and I tell you this, John Garstang. I give you a quarter of an hour, and if you’re not gone then, the men shall throw you out.”
“What!” cried Garstang, sternly, as he drew himself up. “Go and leave this poor girl here to your tender mercies?”
“Yes, sir; go and leave ‘this poor girl,’ as you call her, to my tender mercies.”
“I can not; I will not,” said Garstang, firmly.
“But I say you shall, Mr Lawyer. You know enough of such things to feel that you must. Curse you and your interference. Kate, my dear, I am your poor dead father’s executor, and your guardian.”
“Yes, it is true,” said Garstang, bitterly. “Poor fellow, it was the one mistake of a good, true life. He had faith in his brother.”
“More than he had in you,” cried Wilton. “Do you hear what I say, Kate? Don’t visit upon your aunt and me the stupid folly of that boy, whose sin is that he is very fond of you, and frightened you by a bit of loving play.”
“Loving play!” cried Garstang, scornfully.
“Yes, my dear, loving play. I vouch for it, and so will his mother.”
“Yes, yes, yes, Kate, dear. He does love you. He told me so, and if he did wrong, poor, poor boy, see how he has been punished.”