“Very well,” she answered, with a faint smile at his boyish insistance, “it shall be Percy then—no, do not interrupt me,” as he seemed about to speak. “I am very troubled and unhappy about Mr. Erle’s visits; they are doing harm to Fern, and I must tell you, once for all, that you are not doing your duty either to your sister or cousin.”
“Erle again,” he muttered, moodily.
“Yes, because the matter lies very close to my heart, for I dearly love your sister. Mr. Trafford—Percy, I mean—you have youth, health, talents—the whole world lies before you; why do you envy your cousin, because he is likely to be a richer man than you?”
“He has robbed me of my rightful inheritance,” was the moody answer.
“It could never be yours,” she returned, quickly; “a Trafford will never be Mr. Huntingdon’s heir.”
“I would change my name.”
“That would avail you little,” with a touch of her old scorn, for the speech displeased her. “Mr. Huntingdon would never leave his money to the son of the man whom he hated, and of the daughter whose disobedience embittered his life. Mr. Erle has to answer for no sins but his own.”
“He had better be careful though,” was the quick response.
“What, have you done him mischief already? Why—why are you not more generous to the poor boy? Why do you encourage these visits that you know will anger Mr. Huntingdon? Why do you tempt him from his duty? Percy, I implore you to be true to yourself and him. Look into your own heart and see if you are acting an honorable part.”
“You are always hard on me,” he returned, sullenly. “Who has been blackening my name to you?”