"You would not?"
"I would not; and what is more I could not, for she is no longer mine."
"No longer yours!"
"No; I have given her away!"
"Given her away!"
"Yes, to my sister Adelaide, yonder, who has good reason to hate her, and who will make her feel what it is to be a slave. Trust a woman for that! With me she would have lived the life of a duchess; as my sister's property she will be a lady's-maid—a drudge. Heaven knows how low she may sink. It may please her mistress to send your brilliant and accomplished daughter to the kitchen to wait upon the cook."
Gerald Leslie writhed at this insulting speech.
"Miss Horton," he exclaimed, "surely, surely your woman's nature revolts at such words as these. Why do you not speak? You were once my daughter's friend; for pity's sake remember that!"
During the whole of this dialogue, Adelaide Horton had sat perfectly still, her head bent over her work, as if she heard nothing of what was going forward; but a close observer might have perceived that her bosom heaved with suppressed emotion, and that her small hand trembled as she endeavored to continue her work.
This had not been lost on Mortimer Percy, who had been for some time intently watching his cousin.