“Ah, Barbara, Barbara, why do you not deny it if it is deniable?” His voice rang with triumph.
But he was answered only by the Lady Barbara’s changing color, by her quivering lips.
“Why do you not admit it, then?” he asked again.
“Why should I admit it or deny it?” she asked, faintly. “What do I know of Lord Farquhart’s movements, save that I am to marry him in less than a fortnight’s time?”
“To marry Lord Farquhart!” Mr. Ashley laughed aloud. “To marry a highwayman whose life is forfeit to the crown! Say rather that you are free for all time from Lord Farquhart! Say rather, sweetheart, that we are free!”
“But why do you take it so easily for granted that my cousin is this highwayman?” asked Barbara.
“Why, it has long been whispered that this highwayman was some one of London’s gallants seeking a new amusement. Surely it is easy to fit that surmise to Lord Farquhart. ’Twould be easy with even less assistance than Lord Farquhart has given us.”
“But what would it profit us to be rid of Lord Farquhart—granting that he is this—this gentleman of the highways?” The Lady Barbara’s eyes were still on her rings. She did not lift them to the man who stood so near her.
“Profit us!” he cried. “It would give you to me. It would permit you to marry me—if Lord Farquhart were out of the way. What else stands between us?”
“No,” she murmured, in a low, faint voice, her eyes still on the jewels in her hands. “’Tis not my Lord Farquhart stands between us, but your poverty and my father’s will. How can we marry when you have nothing, when I would have less than nothing if I defied my father? No, I intend to marry Lord Farquhart, whatever he may be.”