"By your contriving."
"It is natural you should think so, seeing the position I hold in the
West Country at the present time."
"I do not think, I know," Crosby answered. "By a trick, and through a lying messenger, you induced her to travel to Dorchester and had her arrested on the journey."
"Let us suppose this to be the case, is it not just possible that there may be a legitimate reason for such a trick?"
"I am ready to listen," said Crosby.
"Always supposing that your knowledge is correct, is it not possible that Mistress Lanison may foolishly believe herself enamoured of a certain somewhat notorious person, and that those who have her well-being at heart think it necessary to protect her from this notorious person until she becomes more sensible?"
Harriet Payne watched him as he spoke. There was a smile upon his handsome face such as any honest man's might wear when dealing with an excitable and imaginative opponent. Then, as Crosby spoke, she looked at him.
"I will tell you the truth," he said, speaking in a low, clear, and incisive tone. "You would yourself marry Barbara Lanison, and, having established a hold over her guardian, you have attempted to force her to such an alliance by threats. At every turn in the game you have been foiled. You have failed to impress Mistress Lanison; you failed in a villainous endeavour to defend her against a drunken man who was acting on your suggestion; you failed to capture me at Lenfield when you had no warrant but your own will for attempting such a capture."
"You have sat at the feet of an excellent taleteller, sir, or else you have a prodigious imagination of your own."
Harriet Payne's eyes were fixed upon Rosmore. She watched him, and looked no more at Crosby.