“I see not why you should be displeased with me,” he remarked, plainly surprised that such should be the case. “I am doing all I can for you. At least, I will try to do as much as that—that——”
“Yes?” she questioned coldly. “Does thee mean Captain Drayton? He is my friend. Mother and I esteem him highly. Pleasure me by remembering that in future.”
“If he is your friend ’tis no reason why he should address you so familiarly. I like it not.”
“I tire of thy manner, Clifford. I am not thy slave, nor yet under bonds of indenture to thee that thou shouldst assume such airs of possession as thee does. I tire of it, I say.”
“If I have offended you I am sorry,” he said sulkily. “I have a hot temper and a quick one. I have held resentment against that—captain ever since last February, when he flouted me with that shirt of my sister’s making. It did seem to me then, as it hath to-day, that he took too much upon himself. Now it appears that I am guilty of the same fault. At least, being your near relative should serve as some excuse for me.”
“I think thee has made that remark upon divers occasions, my cousin. Is not thy father with Lord Cornwallis?”
“Yes, of course. Why?”
“Then kindly remember that being cousin-german to my father, he stands in nearer relationship to me than thee does. Should I have need of guidance I will ask it of him. Does thee understand, my cousin?”
“Only too well,” he burst forth. “And all this for the sake of a Yankee captain. Oh, I noticed how solicitous you were lest he should be hurt.”
“And was solicitude not shown for thee also? Thou art unjust, Clifford.”