She snatched it away; not so quickly, though, but that he had time to feel that it was burning hot, as her scarlet cheeks seemed to be, while her eyes were unusually brilliant.
It was no time to question or reproach, and the curate set himself to soothe.
“Why, Leo, my dear,” he said, smiling. “I shall begin to think you are cross.”
“If you mean indignant,” she retorted, “I am. My very soul seems to revolt against the wretched system of espionage you two have established against me.”
“No, no, Leo, dear!” said Mary. “How can you say such things of Hartley, whose every thought is for your good?”
“Good—good—good!” cried Leo; “I’m sick of the very word! Be good! Be a good girl! Oh! it’s sickening!”
Salis made a sign to Mary to be silent, but Leo detected it.
“There!” she cried, with her eyes flashing. “What did I say? You two are always plotting against me. Ah!”
She shivered as from a sudden chill, and drew her chair closer to the fire.
“Do you feel unwell, dear?” said Salis anxiously.