“Would you mind, Miss Lawrence?”
“Mind—your smoking—here?” said Lydia hastily. “I—I don’t think I should, but—”
“No, no,” said Capel; “it is impossible. For heaven’s sake, pay a little respect to the ladies, if you cannot to the dead.”
Artis started to his feet.
“Look here, Paul Capel,” he cried angrily; “you have taken upon yourself several times since I have been locked-up here with you to use confoundedly offensive language to me. How dare you speak to me like that?”
“Dare?” cried Capel, rising. “Pooh!” he ejaculated, throwing himself back, and glancing at Katrine, whose eyes seemed to flash with eager pleasure, while Lydia half rose, with extended hands; “I am forgetting myself.”
Lydia sank back with a sigh, while Katrine’s eyes flashed, and her lip curled.
“Forgetting yourself!” cried Artis. “By Jove, sir, you’ve done nothing else! I suppose you expect to have all the old man’s money, but we shall see.”
“Don’t be alarmed, Miss Lawrence,” said Capel, smiling. “I am not going to quarrel. Ah, here is Mr Girtle.”
The door opened, and Charles entered, with two more lighted candles, one in each hand, preceding Mr Girtle, who came in bearing a large tin deed box. This he slowly proceeded to place upon the carpet beside a small table, on which Charles deposited the candlesticks.