“Yes, from the servants. And I heard his last insulting words. Go to your room, child.”
She threw open the door, and, accustomed to obey from her childhood, Louise moved slowly towards the hall; but as she turned slightly to dart a last indignant look at the man who had set her heart beating wildly as he at the same time roused her indignation, she saw such a look of agony that her courage failed, a strange sense of pity stole through her, and she stepped back and took her aunt’s arm.
“Hush, aunt dear,” she said, “there is no need to say more. Mr Leslie has made a great mistake in bringing up that cruel report, and he will go now and contradict it for my brother’s sake.”
“And apologise for his insult,” cried Aunt Marguerite fiercely. “Child, I bade you go to your room.”
“Yes, aunt, I am going.”
“I must speak to this man alone.”
“Aunt, dear—”
“Pray go, Miss Vine,” said Leslie, approaching and taking her hand.
She yielded, and he led her to the door.
“Nothing your aunt can say will change my feelings towards you. When you are calm you will forgive me. Believe me, I will do everything to clear your brother from this charge.”