"Indeed," I replied indignantly, "he would not have got tired of me! If I were his own child, Cornelius could not be fonder of me than he is."
Mr. Thornton looked deep into me, and at first said nothing.
"If you were his own child—eh!" he at length echoed. "Fudge!"
"Fudge, Sir! And why should he not like me? He reared me, he taught me, he watched by me when I was ill; he did everything for me. Why then should he not like me?"
I sat within a few paces of my grandfather; he stretched out bis arm, placed his hand under my chin, raised my face so as to meet his bended gaze, and again seemed to read me through.
"Silly thing!" he said, a little contemptuously, and dropped his hand, which I immediately caught, and imprisoned in both mine.
"Oh, Sir!" I exclaimed, "I have kept my word; I will keep it still; but pray let me go and see them—pray do. Where can the harm be in that? Oh! pray, do let me!"
In my eagerness, I could scarcely speak, and the words trembled on my lips.
"So," he said, "that is what you have been getting pale about, is it?— and fretting, eh?"
I could not deny the imputation. He took his hand from me, frowned, and looked displeased.