“I am married,” she said.
“What!” he exclaimed, scarcely believing his ears.
“Yes, I was secretly married to Captain Arbuthnot before he sailed,” she told him. “You see, father would not give his consent—so—we did it. Now are you satisfied?”
Satisfied! He was filled with indignation.
“And knowing that, you allowed me to propose to you,” he said bitterly.
“I could not help your being silly,” she said, shutting her new pink parasol with a snap.
“You made a fool of me, Miss Lane—I beg your pardon!—Mrs. Arbuthnot.”
“Oh! don’t call me that!” she said with a light laugh. “You will forget and do it before people, and we don’t want anyone to know till—till Captain Arbuthnot comes into some money. Mind! you have promised not to tell!”
Herbert Langridge eyed the girl with something like consternation. He, like Mrs. Barrimore, had thought her a frank, innocent child, incapable of anything underhand. He had known she was a flirt—who did not? but he had thought that it was mere childish, light-hearted coquetry; now he thought differently.
He avoided all names now in speaking to her. He also increased the distance between them.