"I'll come with you."
With one shoulder turned to her father, she cowered to her lover's breast.
"Ay, an' yo' need n' be afraaid I'll not bae sober. I'll bae sober enoof now. D'ye 'ear, Mr. Cartaret? Yo' need n' bae afraaid, either. I'll kape sober. I'd kape sober all my life ef it was awnly t' spite yo'. An' I'll maake 'er 'appy. For I rackon theer's noothin' I could think on would spite yo' moor. Yo' want mae t' marry 'er t' poonish 'er. I knaw."
"That'll do, Greatorex," said Rowcliffe.
"Ay. It'll do," said Greatorex with a grin of satisfaction.
He turned to Alice, the triumph still flaming in his face. "Yo're nat afraaid of mae?"
"No," she said gently. "Not now."
"Yo navver were," said Greatorex; and he laughed.
That laugh was more than Mr. Cartaret could bear. He thrust out his face toward Greatorex.
Rowcliffe, watching them, saw that he trembled and that the thrust-out, furious face was flushed deeply on the left side.