“Yes—willingly,” said Georgiana, in the faintest of voices.
“And yet you ran away with this here other man,” said Thornby.
“I was—carried away,” she replied, in a tone as frail as before.
“And you are still willing to marry Mr. Thornby?” said her uncle.
“Y—yes.”
Thornby’s brow cleared. “Then, ecod, not much harm’s done, after all. ’Tis all well that ends well.”
Everell again put in, addressing Thornby: “She is willing to marry you, perhaps. But ask her if she will ever love you, man.”
“Eh! Well, what about that? D’ye think you’ll ever love me, miss?”
“No, I do not, sir,” cried Georgiana, suddenly emphatic of voice. “I shall always love this gentleman! For ever, and ever, and ever!” And she moved toward the man of her choice.
Her manner of speech, her look of disdain, and Everell’s smile of triumph were too much for Thornby’s savage vanity. “Then don’t flatter yourself I’ll marry you,” he answered, with retaliatory scorn. “A white-faced vixen, when all’s said and done! Mistress of Thornby Hall, after this night’s business?—dod, I’m warned in time!”