“So I suppose,” said Leslie coldly.
“Send him away,” whispered Harry hoarsely.
“It is not in Miss Louise Vine’s power to send me away, sir,” cried Leslie fiercely; and the poor trembling girl felt her brother start once more.
“You, sir, are here, by her confession, clandestinely. You are a scoundrel and a cur, who dare not show your face or you would not have dashed out that light.”
Harry made a harsh guttural sound, such as might be uttered by a beast at bay.
“Who are you? I need not ask your object in coming here. I could not help hearing.”
“Tell him to go away,” said Harry sharply, speaking in French to disguise his voice.
“Mr Leslie, pray, pray go. This is a private visit. I beg you will go.”
“Private enough,” said Leslie, bitterly; “and once more I say you may think I have no right to interfere. I give up all claims that I might have thought I had upon you, but as your father’s friend I will not stand calmly by and see wrong done his child. Speak out, sir; who are you? Let’s hear your name, if you are ashamed to show your face.”
“Tell him to go away,” said Harry again.