“Then why the deuce—there—there, I don’t mean that—tell me why you do come?”
“Aunt sends me to walk here, sir; but please don’t say I told you, or she will be so angry.”
“Then you don’t want to come and walk here?”
“Oh no, sir! I would much rather not,” exclaimed the girl, eagerly.
“Your aunt sends you, then?” said Trevor, looking at her searchingly, while she gazed up in his eyes like a dove before a hawk.
“Ye-yes, sir!”
“Do you know why?”
The girl’s face grew fiery red now, even to the roots of her hair, and as she looked appealingly at him, he flung her hand angrily from him.
“There, go back,” he exclaimed. “I’m not cross with you, but—there, go home.”
The girl sprang away, evidently frightened to death, and weeping bitterly, to pass these people—she could not tell whom—as she held down her head; but Trevor saw, and he knew that they saw him, and must have witnessed part of the interview; for the party consisted of Tiny Rea, her sister, and Mr Mervyn.