“Oh, about the park,” said Mowbray, somewhat meekly.
“The park?” said Edith, in a tone of disappointment. “Is that all? Why, Captain Mowbray, this park is only my jail yard, and to go about it can not be very pleasant, to a prisoner, either on horseback or on foot. But surely I do not understand you. I must be too hasty. Of course you mean to do as every gentleman would do, and let the lady select the place where she wishes to go?”
“I assure you Miss Dalton,” said Mowbray, “I should be most happy to do so if I were able; but you are not allowed to go out of the park, you know.”
“Who prohibits me, pray?”
“Wiggins.”
“Wiggins! And why should you care for any of his regulations? Do you not know who he is, and what he is, and in what position he stands toward me?”
“Oh, well,” said Mowbray, in a hesitating voice, “he is your guardian, you know.”
“But I am of age,” said Edith. “Guardians can not imprison their wards as he imprisons me. I am of age. I own this place. It is mine. He may have some right to attend to its business for the present, but he has no right over me. The law protects me. You know that as well as I do.”
“Yes, true; but—ah—you know—ah—you are really so very peculiarly situated, Miss Dalton, that I should not like to do any thing which might compromise your—ah—position.”
“Surely, Captain Mowbray, you must now be speaking without thinking. In what way, pray, can it compromise my position to ride with you through the village streets, rather than over the roads of the park?”