Cora glanced behind her, to see the brightly lit-up house and hear the strains of music and the sounds of laughter and lively remark, while, by contrast with the glow in that direction, the bushes amid which she stood and into which she peered seemed to be the more obscure.
There was a pause, and then a woman’s voice said quickly:
“No, no; I cannot. You must not ask me, indeed.”
A curious feeling of disappointment came over Cora, for her plan was crushed on the instant. What were other people’s love affairs to her?
She was turning away with disgust, when the deep voice of the Major said quickly, and in a menacing way which rooted the listener to the spot:
“But I say you shall. One word from me, and you might have to leave Saltinville for good. I mean for your own good.”
“Oh, Rockley!”
“I don’t care; you make me mad. Here have I done you endless little services, helped you to live in the style you do; and the first little favour I ask of you, I am met with a flat refusal.”
“I don’t like to refuse you, but the girl is—”
“Well, you know what the girl is. Hang it all, Pont, should I ask you if it were not as I say—unless it were that rich heiress I am to carry off some day.”