Trevor stared at her, in wonder at the effrontery displayed.
“And, in your foolish vanity, you thought such a thing possible?”
“Yes.”
“Regardless of the poor girl’s feelings?”
“Yes—yes—yes!” said Mrs Lloyd, slowly. “I know what is for her good—and yours.”
“Mrs Lloyd,” said Trevor, coldly, “I would gladly keep to my promise with you, that you should never leave Penreife. If harm to your prospects comes of this, don’t blame me. You had better go back to the house.”
He turned, as if to walk away; but she caught him sharply by the wrist.
“Stop!” she cried, angrily. “Tell me this. Have you been trying to make an engagement with that wax doll up at Tolcarne?”
“You insolent old—There, go back, Mrs Lloyd,” he cried, checking himself. “You must be mad.”
“Mad? Yes, enough to make me, you wild, ungrateful boy,” she cried, her fingers tightening round his wrist, so that it would have taken a violent effort to free himself. “Stop, and listen to me.”