“Pray do not trouble! It does not matter to me what you think me.” She pulled open one of the drawers in the dressing table, found a pair of lace ruffles in it, and began swiftly to tack these on to the sleeves of his shirt. “There! If you pull them down, the bandages will not be so very noticeable. I have left your fingers free.”
“Thank you,” he said, putting on his coat again.
“If you take my advice, you will go home now, and to bed!”
“I shall not take your advice. I am going to play faro.”
“I don’t want you in my house!” said Miss Grantham.
“It is not your house. I am very sure your aunt desires nothing more than to see me at her faro-table. She shall have her wish.”
“I cannot stop you behaving imprudently, even if I wished to, which I don’t,” said Miss Grantham. “If you are determined to remain here, you had better go in to supper, for I dare say you must be hungry.”
“Your solicitude overwhelms me,” returned Ravenscar. “I own I had expected at least a loaf of bread and a jug of water in my dungeon—until I learned, of course, that you had some idea of starving me to death.”
Miss Grantham bit her lip. “I would like very much to starve you to death,” she said defiantly. “And let me tell you, Mr Ravenscar, that Lucius Kennet is downstairs, and if you have any notion of starting—a vulgar brawl in my house, I will have you thrown out of it! There is Silas, and both the waiters, and my aunt’s butler, and my brother too, so do not think I cannot do it!”
“This is very flattering,” he said, “but I fear my fighting qualities have been exaggerated. It would not take all these people to throw me out of the house.”