“Yes, uncle.”
“May I ask what?”
I was ashamed to tell; and, in the little pause before my answer came, my pique at Guy’s desertion was augmented by anger at my uncle’s denial of his own words the ungenerous hopes he cherished, and a strong desire to perplex and thwart him took possession of me, for I saw his anxiety concerning the success of this interview, though he endeavored to repress and conceal it. Assuming my coldest mien, I said,—
“No, sir, I think not; only I can assure you that my little plot has succeeded better than your own.”
“But you intend to obey your father’s wish, I hope, and fulfil your part of the compact, Sybil?”
“Why should I? It is not binding, you know, and I’m too young to lose my liberty just yet; besides, such compacts are unjust, unwise. What right had my father to mate me in my cradle? how did he know what I should become, or Guy? how could he tell that I should not love some one else better? No! I’ll not be bargained away like a piece of merchandise, but love and marry when I please!”
At this declaration of independence my uncle’s face darkened ominously, some new suspicion lurked in his eye, some new anxiety beset him; but his manner was calm, his voice blander than ever as he asked,—
“Is there then, some one whom you love? Confide in me, my girl.”
“And if there were, what then?”
“All would be changed at once, Sybil. But who is it? Some young lover left behind at madame’s?”