“Well—ah—you are in mourning, you know.”
“Really I do not see what that has to do with it. If I have the sorrow of bereavement, that is no reason why I should have the additional sorrow of imprisonment.”
“Oh, you know, Wiggins would make a fuss about it, and put you to no end of trouble.”
Mowbray's unwillingness to help her, and hesitation, had once before roused Edith's indignation; but now she believed him to be in Wiggins's employ, and therefore felt calm, and talked with him chiefly for the sake of seeing what she could get out of him, either in the way of explanation or concession.
“When you speak of trouble,” said she, “I think it is I who will give trouble to him rather than undergo it from him.”
“Oh, well—either way,” said Mowbray, “there would be trouble, and that is what I wish to avoid.”
“Gentlemen are not usually so timid about encountering trouble on behalf of a lady,” said Edith, coldly.
“Oh, well, you know, if it were ordinary trouble I wouldn't mind it, but this is legal trouble. Why, before I knew where I was I might be imprisoned, and how would I like that?”
“Not very well, as I can testify,” said Edith.
“Believe me, Miss Dalton,” said Mowbray, with a desperate effort to appear earnest and devoted, “there is nothing that I would not do for you, and I feel exceedingly pained that you are not content with your present position; but you see I do not want to put myself in the clutches of the law if I can help it. Wiggins is an enemy of mine, as I told you, and only tolerates me here because he dare not prevent me—neither he nor his man; but—ah—you know—that is—I mean—he—ah—he watches me very closely, you know, and if I were to do any thing that he could lay hold of, he would be very glad to do so, and put me to trouble and expense—no end.”