“Oh, Auntie, don’t, please,” she pleaded, holding out her hands beseechingly.
“Every one sees it,” continued the merciless voice, “even his mother. And from the way she spoke that night she was here, I could tell that she was very much displeased.”
“Are you sure of that?” Meg asked quietly.
“Of course I’m sure,” was the impatient answer.
“Very well. I’ll see that no one has reason to criticise my actions again. Thank you for telling me. Good-night,” she said gently, as she started to her room.
[CHAPTER XII.]
“Pray, goody, please to moderate the rancour of your tongue.”
Meg did not see Robert for a week after that memorable walk. The days of his absence were not sweetened by the comments of her aunt. “I knew he would grow tired of being pursued. Men are not won that way,” was the remark, with variations, which greeted the girl every day of the seven during which she did not have the saving grace of Robert’s presence to help her endure the torture.
All that was broad and sweet in her nature rejected the imprecations, but what there was of suspicion, engendered by the loveless home life she had led, listened to her tormentor.
It was not surprising, therefore, that she became irritable and nervous. It was in this mood that Robert found her, when, after his week of battle, he again walked up the narrow, flower-bordered path. It seemed to him that he had never really been there before. Just as Meg, after the great revelation, had appeared in a new light, so now did her surroundings.