She shook her head, her face hidden.
"None at all?" he persisted, toying with his snuff-box, while he looked at her keenly. "Pardon me, I wish to have this clear because--because it's important."
"I would rather die," she cried passionately, "than be his wife."
He nodded. "Good," he said. "It was to be expected. Well, we must make that clear, quite clear, and--and I can hardly think your sister will still refuse to receive you."
Sophia started; her face flamed. "Has she said anything?" she muttered.
"Nothing," Coke answered. "But you left her yesterday--to join him; and you return to-day. Still--still, child, I think if we make all clear to her, quite clear, and to your brother Northey, they will be willing to overlook the matter and find you a home."
She shuddered. "You speak very plainly," she murmured faintly.
"I fear," he said, "you will hear plainer things from her. But," he continued, speaking slowly now, and in a different tone, "there is another way, child, if you are willing to take it. One other way. That way you need not see her unless you choose, you need see none of them, you need hear no plain truths. That way you may laugh at them, and what they say will be no concern of yours, nor need trouble you. But 'tisn't to be supposed that with all this you will take it."
"You mean I may go to Chalkhill?" she cried, rising impetuously. "I will, I will go gladly, I will go thankfully! I will indeed!"
"No," he said, rising also, so that only the table stood between them. "I did not mean that. There is still another way. But you are young, child, and it isn't to be supposed that you will take it."