“You had better return to the house, Mrs Lloyd,” said Trevor, coldly. “I want to speak to you.”
“You can speak now, if you please,” said the woman, in a low, suppressed voice. “I don’t suppose you would like the servants to know.”
Trevor was getting angry, and he took a step towards the woman, and held up a finger.
“You have been watching me, Mrs Lloyd.”
“Yes,” she said, coolly—“I came on purpose.”
“You sent that poor girl here, then, Mrs Lloyd, and you have been playing the spy?”
“You can call it any hard names you like, Mr Richard,” said the woman, defiantly.
She rolled her white apron round her arms, tightened her lips until they formed a thin livid line, and looked at him without flinching.
Trevor bit his lip to keep down his rising passion, and then went on—
“Mrs Lloyd,” he said, “I thought we had made a truce. Mind, you are the one who breaks it, not I.”