Lady Wetheral became extremely agitated. She walked to the window, threw open the sash, and closed it again, as she spoke.
"I have said enough to waken your understanding. Any one might comprehend my meaning—any one would know I detested the idea of your marrying Sir John Spottiswoode."
Christobelle looked up in her mother's face with astonishment. She continued with increased nervousness.
"You cannot deceive me, Bell. You cannot deny your predilection for that man, which will at once decide the intentions, and end all hopes of Lord Farnborough. You are determined to pursue your will, and I will act upon my own resolution. The very hour in which you accept Sir John Spottiswoode, shall be the last of your residence with me."
"Good heavens, mamma, I have not a thought of Sir John Spottiswoode, or Sir John Spottiswoode of me! What can have caused such a supposition in your mind?"
"You do not care for him—you will not care for him—is that your meaning, Bell?"
"I do not care for any one, half so much as for my own papa, and I hope I shall always prefer him," she exclaimed, energetically.
"Folly, and nonsense!—girl's folly," resumed Lady Wetheral, "by your blushes I might have given you credit for ambition; but your walks and sailing with Sir John Spottiswoode, inclines me to fear you will give yourself to a poor baronet."
"I did not know he was poor, mamma."
"Comparatively speaking with Sir Foster Kerrison, he is poor. What is a paltry income of three thousand pounds, compared with the wealthy dukedom of Forfar?"