And "Well?" answered Sally, with scarlet cheeks, but calmly.
"He is waiting for you down-stairs," I said.
Then she acted in the foolish way that seemed natural. She dropped on her knees and put her face against my shoulder.
"Cousin Mary! I can't! It's a strange man—it isn't our sailor any more. I hate it. I don't like Englishmen."
"He's very much the same as yesterday," I said. "You needn't like him if you don't want to, but you must go and tell him so yourself." I think that was rather clever of me.
So, holding my hand and trembling, she went down. When I saw Richard Leigh's look as he stood waiting, I tried to loosen that clutching hand and leave them, but Sally, always different from any one else, held me tight.
"Cousin Mary, I won't stay unless you stay," she said, firmly.
I looked at the young man and he laughed.
"I don't care. I don't care if all the world hears me," he said, and he took a step forward and caught her hands.
Sally looked up at him. "You're a horrid lord or something," she said.