“Not I. There, don’t be cross. I can’t help it, if she is going.”
Linnell turned from him impatiently, but Burnett followed.
“Let her go, man. What’s the good of worrying about her? Better for both of us.”
“Come aside,” said Mellersh softly. “Here they are.”
Linnell seemed disposed to stand fast, but Mellersh took his arm.
“Look here, my dear boy,” he whispered. “You don’t want to interfere. Let her go.”
Linnell turned upon him fiercely, but he yielded to his companion’s touch, and they walked on some twenty yards, followed by Burnett, who was laughing to himself and nibbing his hands.
“Lucky I heard,” he said to himself. “I only want to be satisfied.”
The steps approaching were not those of a lady and gentleman, but of Lord Carboro’ and Barclay, who, in utter ignorance of anyone but the postboys being at hand, stood for a few minutes listening.
“Yes, Barclay,” said the former. “I could not bear for the poor girl to go without making a step to save her. I’m an old fool, I know, but not the first of my kind. I tell you, asking nothing, expecting nothing, I’d give ten thousand pounds to feel that I had not been deceived in her.”