“You don’t mean what you are saying,” she whispered sadly, “so I shan’t fret about that.”
“You don’t believe me,” he said, in a low voice, as he fixed the girl with his eyes, glorying in the knowledge that he had thoroughly subdued her, and that she was his to mould exactly as he willed, to obey him like a slave. “Then you may believe this, that I have told you before. All that has passed between us is our secret, and if you betray it and ruin my prospects, and make me a beggar, you may go and drown yourself as you threatened, for aught I care, for you will have wilfully cut everything between us asunder. Now we understand each other, and you had better go before any one comes.” The girl stood gazing at him piteously now, with every trace of anger gone out of her eyes, and her tones, when she spoke, were those of appeal.
“But, Jessop, dear.”
“Be quiet, will you,” he said angrily.
“Don’t speak to me like that, dear,” she whispered. “Only tell me you don’t care for Miss Praed.”
“I won’t answer such a baby’s stupid questions. You know I only care for you.”
There was a sob, but at the same moment a look of hope to lighten a good deal of despair.
“You are not angry with me, Jessop, dear?”
“Yes, I am, very.”
“But you will forgive me, love?”