“Sit still,” he said shortly. “Ye know perfectly well it’s no the thing for you to be walking wi’ one o’ the Haywards. Mrs. Hayward, as ye’re maybe not unaware, complained about it last year—”
“That’ll do, John,” interposed Miss Corrie, observing the girl’s burning cheeks. “We’re as good as the Haywards any day, but we’d best forget that affair. Now that Kitty’s heard about it, she’ll know what to do in future.”
Kitty mastered the quiver of her pretty mouth, and with a quick movement brushed the tears from her dark eyes, and looked straight at her uncle.
“Please tell me at once,” she said, “what Mr. Symington wanted with me.”
The directness of the question had a disconcerting effect on Mr. Corrie.
“Maybe you could guess,” he mumbled at last.
Kitty ignored the invitation.
“Ye’d best tell her, Rachel,” said Mr. Corrie.
“Mr. Symington is anxious to marry ye,” the woman said in little more than a whisper.
Without haste Kitty got up and moved to the door. Turning there, she faced them both. Her voice was clear and steady—