“Ah, I tho’t mebbe ther’s suthin’ agin him. You 258 see, Rosie, ther’ mustn’t be anythin’ agin the man you marry. He’s got to be a jo-dandy clear thro’. I——”
“But I’m not going to marry Lord Vinceps, you silly, at least—I don’t think so. Besides,” as an afterthought, “it’s nothing to you who I marry.”
“Wal, no. Mebbe that’s so, only ef you’d get hitched, as the sayin’ is, to some mule-headed son of a gun that wa’n’t squar’ by you, I’d git around an’ drop him in his tracks, ef I had to cross the water to do it.”
Rosebud listened with a queer stirring at her heart, yet she could not repress the impatience she felt at the calm matter-of-fact manner in which the threat was made. The one redeeming point about it was that she knew one of Seth’s quiet assurances to be far more certain, far more deadly, than anybody’s else wildest spoken threats. However, she laughed as she answered him.
“Well, you won’t have to cross the ocean to find the man I marry. I’m not going to England again, except, perhaps, on a business visit. I intend to stay here, unless Pa and Ma turn me out.”
Seth caught his breath. For a second his whole face lit up.
“Say, I didn’t jest take you right,” he said. “You’re goin’ to stay right here?”
Rosebud gave a joyous little nod. She had stirred Seth out of his usual calm. There was no mistaking the light in his hollow eyes. He made no movement, 259 he spoke as quietly as ever, but the girl saw something in his eyes that set her heart beating like a steam hammer. The next moment she was chilled as though she had received a cold douche.
“Wal, I’m sorry,” he went on imperturbably. “Real sorry. Which I mean lookin’ at it reas’nable. ’Tain’t right. You belong ther’. Ther’s your folk an’ your property, an’ the dollars. You jest ought to fix up wi’ some high soundin’ feller——”
“Seth, mind your own business!”