“What in the devil’s name are you saying?” ejaculated Lovel contemptuously. “Name of Lovel? is your trouble sending you out of your senses?”
“No, it’s brought me to them,” she said tartly. “I may have been a fool in the past, and taken my pleasures too light where I found them, but that’s over now, and for the future I’m going to look after myself and my baby. And if you don’t take the proper steps, and the only decent steps, and the steps I want, there’s not a soul in Wilts and Somerset but shall know the scandal of that daft beast you let roam about at his own free-will.”
“What ...” began Lovel, aghast.
“Yes,” she cried shrilly. “’Tis all very well for you to be sitting up there so grand on your horse, with your eyes looking out over your nose, while your brother Olver who ought to be in Marlborough lock-up—and so ought you too, you poacher, for that matter—skulks about in dark barns taking advantage like the beast he is of poor girls on a scatter of straw. And I saw you, yes, I saw you, not only coming home from Marlborough fair, but often, quite the gentleman with Miss Warrener, and where had you two been, I should like to know? and it made me so mad seeing you that I didn’t care what any one done to me, whether it was Olver Lovel or another. I was crying after you all the time, if you want to know, so as I scarcely noticed a thing. And now, since even you’d scarcely see me married to that hoddy-doddy, you’ll just have to marry me yourself, and pass off your nephew as your son for the rest of our life, and have only yourself to thank. And you needn’t think you’ll be losing your Miss Warrener any the more, for she’s been promised to Mr. Calladine this many a week back.”
“Promised to Mr. Calladine?” said Lovel, starting. “How do you know that?”
“Every one in the village knows it but you,” she jeered, “and if you wasn’t too proud to consort with your equals a bit more you’d know it too. Ask Martha Sparrow or William Baskett or any of them. Ask Mrs. Quince over to Starvecrow. Ask her if the house isn’t being done up all grand against the lady coming. Ride over and see if Mr. Calladine isn’t picking up a patch of garden with his own hands, forsooth. Ask parson if he hasn’t had notice yet to call the banns. We’ll have ours called the same Sunday. ‘Richard Calladine and Clare Warrener, Nicholas Lovel and Margaret Morland, all of this parish.’ That’ll be a fine sit-up-and-take-notice for the congregation.”
“I must speak to Olver first,” said Lovel dully.
“Then you’ll do it?” urged Daisy. “If you find that what I’ve told you’s true, you’ll do it?”
“Oh, yes, I’ll marry you,” said Lovel, tonelessly. “But I’ll speak to Olver first,” he added, “and you’ll see the doctor.”