Whatever Mr. Edwin Barley might do privately, he knew he had no legal right to remain within the domains of Chandos, when ordered off them, and he was not one openly to defy usages. He moved away in the direction of the gates; turning his head to speak at about the third step, and halting as he did so.
"The law, so far, lies with you at present, Mr. Harry Chandos. A short while, and perhaps it will lie with me, in a matter far more weighty. As to you, Anne, I shall officially claim you."
Nothing else was said. Mr. Chandos watched him to the turning of the dark wall, then walked by my side to the house, flicking the shrubs with his whip.
"I happened to have it with me," he said, whether addressing the whip, or me, or the air, was not clear. "I was fastening the handle, which had got loose. Is that man your uncle?"
He turned to me full now, a look of stern pain on his pale, proud face. The tears gushed forth again at the question; I was wishing my heart could break.
"Oh no, no; indeed I am no blood-relation of his."
Mr. Chandos went on without another word. I thought he was despising me: would think that I had been in league with his enemy, Edwin Barley. I who had pretended not to know him!
The cloth was laid in the oak-parlour, but there were no lights yet. Mr. Chandos flung his whip into a corner, and stood in the shade of the curtain. I went up to him, feeling very hysterical.
"Do not misjudge me, Mr. Chandos. I will tell you all, if you please, after dinner. I should have told you before but that I have felt so frightened at Mr. Edwin Barley."
"Since when have you felt frightened?"