“Aunt—aunt, dear!” cried the girl, piteously.
But the woman stopped her.
“Not another word. Now, look here—do I speak plain?”
“Yes, aunt.”
“Hush!—no crying. You are to be Mrs Richard Trevor, with a handsome husband, and plenty of money. If you don’t know what’s good for you, I do. Now go out for a walk; and when he meets you, if you don’t smile on him, and lead him on, I’ll—I’ll—There, I believe I shall poison you!”
The girl turned, shivering, from the fierce-looking face, as if believing the threat, and hurried out of the house.
“If Humphrey don’t take me away I shall go and drown myself,” she cried, with a sob. “Oh, it’s dreadful! He will hate me for this, and if Mr Richard sees me, what will he think!”
Poor Polly’s life had been a very hard one. So accustomed was she to blindly obey, that it never occurred to her that she might take any other route than the one so often indicated by her aunt; and she went as usual—ready to cry, but not daring, and thinking bitterly of her position.
“If I had only been a man,” she thought, “I’d run away to sea, and—here he is.”
“Ah, little maiden,” exclaimed Trevor—for Mrs Lloyd had timed the matter well—“why, how bright and pretty you look!”