“Yes,” cried the girl addressed, passionately. “I wish you would, and then there’d be an end of the misery and wretchedness. And as for that Miss Janet Praed—”
“Hold your tongue, you silly, jealous little fool!”
“Oh yes, I know I’m a fool—fool to believe all your wicked lies. And so would you be jealous. I saw it all last time she was here—a slut engaged to be married to your brother, and all the time making eyes at you, while you are carrying on with her shamefully, and before me, too. It’s cruel and disgraceful. I may be only a servant, but I’ve got my feelings the same as other people, and I’d die sooner than behave as she did, and you did, and—and—I wish I was dead, I do—that I do.”
“Will you be quiet, you silly little goose. Do you want everybody in the house to know of our flirtation?”
“Flirtation!” cried the girl, wiping her streaming eyes. “You regularly proposed and asked me to be your wife.”
“Why, of course. Haven’t I promised that I would marry you some day?”
“Yes—some day,” said the girl bitterly; “but some day never comes. Oh, Jessop, dear Jessop! you made me love you so, and you’re breaking my heart, going on as you do with that Miss Praed.”
She threw her arms about his neck, and clung to him till he roughly forced her to quit her hold.
“Are you mad?” he said angrily.
“Yes, very nearly,” cried the girl, with her pretty, fair, weak face lighted up with rage. “You’ve made me so. I’ll tell Mr Clive as soon as he comes back from Derbyshire—see if I don’t!”