Her strength was spent. She could say no more. Her senses seemed to reel, and with the impression upon her that if she stayed she would swoon away, she hurried from the room, leaving Leslie and the old woman face to face.
He drew a long breath, set his teeth, and meeting Aunt Marguerite’s angry look firmly, he bowed, and was about to quit the house.
“No, not yet,” she said. “I’m no eavesdropper, Mr Leslie; but I felt bound to watch over that poor motherless girl. It was right that I should, for in spite of all my hints, I may say my plain speaking regarding my child’s future, you have taken advantage of her helplessness to press forward your suit.”
“Miss Vine.”
“Miss Marguerite Vine, if you please, Mr Leslie,” said the lady with a ceremonious bow.
“Miss Marguerite Vine then,” cried Leslie angrily, “I cannot discuss this matter with you: I look to Mr Vine.”
“My brother is weak and ill. I am the head of this family, sir, and I have before now told you my intentions respecting my niece.”
“Yes, madam, but you are not her father.”
“I am her father’s sister, and if my memory serves me rightly, I told you that Monsieur de Ligny—”
“Who is Monsieur de Ligny?” said Vine entering the room slowly.