“They’re rich enough to laugh at it.”
“They’re not rich; they’re poor, for the Squire’s in difficulties.”
“Petty village tattle. Rubbish, girl. Once more, no more of this. You’re wrong, my dear. You mean well, but there’s an ugly saying about good intentions which I will not repeat. Now listen to me. The coming down to Northwood has been a grave mistake, and when people blunder the sooner they get back to the right path the better. I have made up my mind to go back to London, and your words this morning have hastened it on. The sooner we are off the better.”
“No, Pierce,” said the girl firmly. “Not to make you unhappy. You shall not take a step that you will repent to the last day of your life, dear. We must stay.”
“We must go. I have nothing to stay for here. Neither have you,” he added, meaningly.
“Pierce!” she cried, flushing.
“Beg pardon, sir; Mr Leigh, sir.”
They had been too much intent upon their conversation to notice the approach of a dog-cart, or that the groom who drove it had pulled up on seeing them, and was now talking to them over the hedge.
“Yes, what is it?” said Leigh, sharply.
“Will you come over to the Manor directly, sir? Master’s out, and Missus is in a trubble way. Our young lady, sir, Miss Wilton, took bad—fainting and nervous. You’re to come at once.”