“Oh, say it again!” exclaimed Georgiana, rejoiced.
“I do say it again! Ecod, I know my value!”
“I am freed of my promise!” she cried.
“Ay,” said Thornby, with a swelling wrath which had to be discharged upon somebody, “and your blundering uncle may go whistle.—You shall answer for this, Foxwell, d’ye hear? I’ll see to that. ’Tis all along o’ your mismanagement. But I’ll be quits wi’ ye. I’ll make use o’ that there letter!—rat me but I will!”
“You are quite unreasonable, Thornby,” said Foxwell, patiently, and, turning to his attendant, “Joseph, wait without.”
Joseph left the room, whereupon Thornby had the grace to order his own servant to be off; so that the four principals were left alone. Foxwell made sure that the door was closed against espial, and thrust into the keyhole a part of the handkerchief he had taken from Georgiana. He then returned to Thornby, who had meanwhile been fuming and pacing the floor.
“You have cause for anger, I admit,” said Foxwell; “but you are bound to own I have done my part.”
“Don’t talk to me, sir,” roared Thornby. “I’ll make you smart afore I’ve done! See if I don’t!”
Foxwell’s own temper gave way. He had been put to much exercise of self-command this evening, and had scarce yet regained his bodily composure after his ride. Of a sudden, now, his face darkened. “Then by heaven I’ll not smart alone! You shall suffer, miss,—and your lover, too! Let all come out. You say you know little of this young gentleman, Thornby. Would you know more?—who he is, what he is?”
“Uncle, you will not!” entreated Georgiana. “With my promise I bought your silence—remember that!—and I have not broken my promise. ’Tis Mr. Thornby has released me.”