“You frighten her,” said Beauchamp.
“You heard her wish to return to Venice, I say.”
“She has no wish that is not mine.”
It came to Roland’s shouting his command to the men, while Beauchamp pointed the course on for them.
“You will make this a ghastly pleasantry,” said Roland.
“I do what I know to be right,” said Beauchamp.
“You want an altercation before these fellows?”
“There won’t be one; they obey me.”
Roland blinked rapidly in wrath and doubt of mind.
“Madame,” he stooped to Rosamund Culling, with a happy inspiration, “convince him; you have known him longer than I, and I desire not to lose my friend. And tell me, madame—I can trust you to be truth itself, and you can see it is actually the time for truth to be spoken—is he justified in taking my sister’s hand? You perceive that I am obliged to appeal to you. Is he not dependent on his uncle? And is he not, therefore, in your opinion, bound in reason as well as in honour to wait for his uncle’s approbation before he undertakes to speak for my sister? And, since the occasion is urgent, let me ask you one thing more: whether, by your knowledge of his position, you think him entitled to presume to decide upon my sister’s destiny? She, you are aware, is not so young but that she can speak for herself...”