Isabella gave me a venomous look.
"You'll not see Phillippa until she is a better man's wife," she said stubbornly, "and I order you to leave my house, Owen Blair!"
"No!"
It was Mark Foster who spoke. He hadn't said a word; but he came forward now, and stood before Owen. Such a difference as there was between them! But he looked Owen right in the face, quiet-like, and Owen glared back in fury.
"Will it satisfy you, Owen, if Phillippa comes down here and chooses between us?"
"Yes, it will," said Owen.
Mark Foster turned to me.
"Go and bring her down," said he.
Isabella, judging Phillippa by herself, gave a little moan of despair, and Owen, blinded by love and hope, thought his cause was won. But I knew my dearie too well to be glad, and Mark Foster did, too, and I hated him for it.
I went up to my dearie's room, all pale and shaking. When I went in she came to meet me, like a girl going to meet death.