“And the sooner the better.”
“Yes, yes; but time’s going. It’s now eleven, and I must strike while the iron’s hot.”
“But, Rockley—”
“More opposition? What the devil do you mean?”
“I don’t like to be mixed up with such an affair.”
“You will not be mixed up with it. No one will know but our two selves.”
“My conscience goes against such a trap.”
“Your conscience!” he hissed angrily.
“Well, and do you suppose I have none? The girl is too good. I like her. It is a shame, Rockley.”
Cora Dean’s heart beat as if it would suffocate her, while her mouth felt dry and her hands moist. She could hardly have moved to save her life. She knew what it was, she felt sure. It was a plot against Claire, and if it were—