“I do not see why,” she said gravely. “You are handsome. You are brave. Do you think I do not know how you fought that duel below the cliff?”
“Oh, tut-tut,” he said quickly; “let that rest.”
“Or how bravely you followed that Major Rockley the night when he carried off Miss Dean?”
“My dear Miss Clode,” said Richard quickly, “we shall be drifting into scandal directly.”
She looked at him pityingly, as she saw the flush upon his cheeks, and it seemed to be reflected in hers, as she spoke out now eagerly and quickly, as if she thought there was a risk of his taking offence and hurrying away.
“I will not talk scandal,” she said, standing before him with her hands clasped; “I only want to talk of you—of your future, and to try and stop you before you go wrong.”
“Miss Clode!” he exclaimed warmly.
“Yes,” she said; “be angry with me. I expect it, and I’ll bear it; I’ll bear anything to see you happy. If I had seen you taking the downward course—gambling, or drinking, or intriguing, I should have tried to stop you—tried fiercely, and braved your anger, as I do now. For I must—I will speak.”
“I have neither been gambling, drinking, nor intriguing, Miss Clode,” said Richard laughingly, “so I have not deserved your wrath.”
“You are mocking at me, boy,” she said, with spirit.