"I fail to understand you. Pray explain yourself, Mr. Brabazon," said Clara a little uneasily.
"'Tis plain enough. Had you given your hand to me, you would never have had the happiness of becoming Lady Penwhistle."
A faint "Oh!" was Clara's sole reply. Why was he so bitter? He must have loved her very much to talk as he did.
"So that you see everything has happened for the best as far as you are concerned," resumed Burgo in his soft drawling tones. "Indeed, I think that you ought to be very thankful for your escape--probably you are. The Penwhistle family diamonds are said to be superb, and rumour has it that his lordship is disposed to behave most liberally in the way of settlements. You are a very fortunate young woman, Miss Leslie."
Clara's heart, such as it was, was full to bursting. "Oh! if you knew all," she exclaimed; "if you knew how I was pestered and badgered into accepting Lord Penwhistle, you would pity me instead of sneering at me! If you think I like him, you are mistaken. I don't. There! And I don't care who knows it." For once she was carried out of herself.
"Pestered and badgered, indeed! Is that all? Why should any young woman allow herself to be pestered and badgered by anybody into marrying a man for whom she does not care? What a confession of weakness is here!"
"As I said before, you don't know my aunt--as I know her."
"No--thank heaven!" murmured Burgo.
"But all this talk is to no purpose, Mr. Brabazon," said Clara hastily. She already regretted her little outburst. "In fact, I ought not to have listened to it. It is enough that I have promised to marry Lord Penwhistle, and I am not going to run away from my promise."
"Of course you are not," assented Burgo with that exasperating smile of his. "You would regret it to the last day of your life if you did."