“Ya! Or only one of them, if you like—she with the golden locks. I care not to know the other.”
Reginald Trevor had overheard this with a singular revulsion of feeling. Bitter as it was to him to see Vaga Powell depart, it would now have been worse, the thought of her remaining in Bristol. Angry he was with her, but not so spiteful nor wicked, as to wish her a fate like that. Well knew he what danger there was to any woman whose beauty tempted Rupert.
Diametrically opposite were the feelings of Lunsford as he listened to the Prince’s declared preference. He had feared it was for the elder sister, which would spoil his own chances should such ever come. Relieved, he made answer,—
“They are sisters, your Royal Highness; the daughters of the gentleman you see along with them.”
“Egad! a rich father in the way of womankind. I wouldn’t mind pilfering a part of his wealth. That bit of saucy sweetness, with cheeks all roses, ought to be pleasant company. I haven’t seen anything to equal her in all your England.”
“Then, your Royal Highness, why do you allow them to go?” said Lunsford, speaking in an undertone. “As you see, they’re setting off for Gloucester, and it may be some time before an opportunity—”
“Ah! true,” interrupted the Prince, reflectively.
“If your Highness deign to say the word, they’ll be brought back. It’s not yet too late.”
The suggestion was selfish as it was base. For he who made it but wished them detained on his own account.
For a moment Rupert seemed inclined to fall in with it; and might have done so, but for a reflection that got the better of him.