“Oh, Lord Clowes,” begged Janice, “wilt thou not let me pay this without calling in dadda? I—I acted without first speaking to him, and I fear me—” There her words were cut short by the entrance of the squire.
“I sent for ye, man, to help us unsnarl a coil. Your daughter insists on repaying the money I have loaned ye, and I thought it best ye should be witness to the transaction.” As he ended he pointed to the pile of coin.
“Odds bodikins!” exclaimed Mr. Meredith, as his eye followed the motion. “And where got ye such a sum, Jan?”
“Oh, dadda,” faltered the girl, “’t is a long story, of which I promise to make you a full narration, once we are alone, though I fear me you will think that I have done wrong. But, meantime, will you not tell me how much you owe Lord Clowes, and let me pay him? Believe me, the money is honestly come by.”
“No doubt, no doubt,” said the commissary, with a rough laugh. “Young macaronis are oft known to give girls hundreds of pounds and get nothing in return.”
All the reply Janice made was to go to the door. “Whenever you will come to the parlour, dadda, you shall know all, but I will not stay here to endure such speeches.”
Without thought of the gold, Mr. Meredith was hurrying after his daughter, when Clowes interrupted him.
“The explanation is simple enough, Meredith,” he said, “and I cannot but take it in bad part that your maid should borrow of Mobray in order to repay my loan to you.”
“I cannot believe that that is the explanation, Clowes,” protested Mr. Meredith. “But if it is, be assured that the money shall be returned him, and we will still stand your debtors.” Then he sought his daughter, and she poured out to him the whole story of the miniature.
“Wrong I may have been, dadda, to have taken it to begin with, but Colonel Brereton refused to receive it from me, and when he himself placed it about my picture, I could not but feel that it had truly become mine, and that I could dispose of it.”