“No, no, you are wrong,” said the old man. “Always the same, my pet. I can read you with these little jealous fits and fancies. I tell you, he loves you very dearly, and I’m going to say something else, my pet, my last little bit of scolding, for I’ve always watched you very keenly for my boy’s sake.”
“Mr Reed!” she whispered, shrinking from him and glancing towards the window; but he held her hands tightly.
“They cannot hear us, little one,” he said, “and I want you to listen. For your own happiness, Janet, my child. It is poor Clive who ought to have been jealous and complained.”
Janet hid her burning face.
“It was not all your fault, little one, but I saw a great deal. Innocent enough with you; but Jacob has always been trying to win Esau’s heritage, and even his promised wife.”
The girl sobbed bitterly now, and laid her burning face close to the old man’s, hiding it in the pillow.
“Oh, don’t, don’t,” she whispered. “I never liked him, but he was always flattering me and saying nice things.”
“Poison with sugar round them, my dear. But that’s all past. You are to be Clive’s dear honoured wife. No more silly, girlish little bits of flirtation. You are not spoiled, my dear, only petted a little too much. That’s all to be put behind us now, is it not?”
“Yes, dear—yes, dear Mr Reed,” she whispered, with her arms about his neck; and it was as if years had dropped away, and it was the little child the old man had petted and scolded a hundred times, asking forgiveness, as she whispered, “I will be good now, and love him very dearly.”
“That’s like my own child,” said the old man. “Now let’s hear the true woman speak.”