“What! are you going to allow it?” cried Richard. “I tell you he’s making play for her.”
“I shall not interfere,” said Mrs Glaire, coldly. “I think Eve ought to have a good husband.”
“But she’s engaged to me!” half-shrieked Richard.
“Well,” said his mother, coldly, though her heart was beating fast, “you are a man, and should counteract it. This is England, and in English society, little as I have seen of it, I know that engaged girls are not prisoners. They are, to a certain extent, free.”
“I’ll soon stop it,” cried Richard, fiercely. “Stop it then, my son, but mind this: I insist upon proper respect being paid to Mr Selwood.”
“I will,” cried Richard, speaking in a deep-pitched voice. “I’ll do something.”
“Then I should take care that my pretensions to her hand were well known,” said Mrs Glaire, with a peculiar look.
“Pretensions—her hand!” said Richard, with a sneer. “Are you mad, mother, that you take this tone? I will soon let them see. I’m not going to be played with.”
He was about leaving the room, when his mother laid her hand upon his arm.
“Stop, Richard,” she said, firmly. “Recollect this—”