“I can only acknowledge my own guilt,” he said.
Miss Hardacre’s mouth gave a vicious twist.
“Then I may as well warn you, Richard,” she retorted, “that you must consult Sir Peter in the matter.”
“Sir Peter?”
“Of course.”
Richard gave a frank shrug of the shoulders.
“What has Sir Peter to do with our marriage?” he said. “It is no business compact. I cannot promise things to your father which I cannot promise here to you.”
Such dignified innocence became more exasperating each moment to the lady by the harpsichord. Yet she still smiled scornfully at her betrothed as though her superior knowledge of the world justified her in despising him.
“You misunderstand the whole matter, Richard,” she said. “You have promised to marry me, and you gained my father’s consent to the marriage. His authority must be consulted, though I can assure you, sir, he is not the man to suffer his daughter’s affections to be trifled with. I am a weak woman, Richard, and my honor, since you seem so careless of it, had better remain in my father’s keeping.”
Jeffray, looking white and stern, understood whither Miss Hardacre’s strategy was tending. He rallied himself, made her a polite bow, and confessed that he could suffer no parental interference.