“Take care!” he said, with a frown. “You seem to be lacking in respect to me. You don’t appear to understand my position in this house.”
“Oh, yes, I do. I know you have schemed to get my poor young mistress out of the house, and have succeeded.”
“I have a great mind to discharge you, girl,” said Curtis, with lowering brow.
“I am not your servant, sir. You have nothing to do with me.”
“You will see whether I have or not. I will let you remain for a time, as it is your attachment to Miss Florence that has made you forget yourself. You will find that it is for your interest to treat me respectfully.”
A feeble step was heard at the door, and John Linden entered the breakfast-room. His face was sad, and he heaved a sigh as he glanced mechanically at the head of the table, where Florence usually sat.
Curtis Waring sprang to his feet, and placing himself at his uncle’s side, led him to his seat.
“How do you feel this morning, uncle?” he asked, with feigned solicitude.
“Ill, Curtis. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“I don’t wonder, sir. You had much to try you.”