“No, I won’t,” said Evelyn, her courage coming now boldly to her aid. “I have come here on business, and I must see Sylvia. You dare not let your horrid dog spring on me; and I am going to stand just where I am till Sylvia comes.”
These very independent words astonished Mr. Leeson so much that he absolutely went out of the house and came down the avenue to meet Evelyn.
“Who are you, child?” he said, as the bold light eyes were fixed on his face.
“I am Evelyn Wynford, the heiress of Wynford Castle.”
A twinkle of mirth came into Mr. Leeson’s eyes.
“And so you want Sylvia, heiress of Wynford Castle?”
“Yes; I want to speak to her.”
“She is not in at present. She is never in at this hour. Sylvia likes an open-air life, and I am glad to encourage her in her taste. May I show you to the gate?”
“Thank you,” replied Evelyn, who felt considerably crestfallen.
Mr. Leeson, with his very best manners, accompanied the little girl to the high iron gates. These he opened, bowed to her as she passed through them, and then shut them in her face, drawing a big bar inside as he did so.