’Treue for you there.  I should have thought you’d have known that one ’lopement was quite enough from one house.  Pray, what have you done with my son Owen?’

‘I, sir?  Nothing, sir!’ said Gladys, trembling at this abrupt question.

Lion licked her hand as if to reassure her.

’You needn’t tell no lies about it, because I shall be seure to find out.  Where is he gone?’

’Indeed—­indeed, I don’t know, sir.  I thought he was at home at Glanyravon.’

‘But he isn’t at home.  He went off with you.’

’Oh, not with me, sir—­not with me, I assure you.  I went away that he might stay, and that I might not cause anger between you.  I am speaking the truth, sir, indeed I am.’

Mr Prothero looked at the agitated girl, and felt inclined to believe her.

‘Tell me why you went away at all, then?’

’Because Mr Owen said to me words that I knew he would be sorry for, and because I saw that you, sir, were displeased at what he said about me.’

‘What did he say to you?  Tell me the truth.’

’He said, sir—­oh!  I cannot tell.  Perhaps you would be more angry with him if you knew.’

Gladys’ head drooped low, and a burning blush overspread her pale face.

’I can’t be much more angry with him than I am, but tell you the treuth.  Did he want to marry you?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And you—­what did you say?’

‘That I couldn’t marry any one in this world, sir.’

‘What do you mean to wait for, then?’

‘Nothing, sir, nobody.’

‘And what did Owen say to that?’

’I don’t think anything more particular passed between us.  He was very kind, sir.’

‘I daresay.  But what made him go away?’

‘I think it must have been because he thought you would send me away.’

‘And you don’t want to marry my son Owen?’

‘No, sir.’

Gladys’ voice wavered slightly as she said this.

‘Ha, ha!  He’s a fine young man, however.’

‘Yes, sir, and very kind.’

‘I daresay.  Will you promise never to marry him?’

As Mr Prothero asked this question, he looked Gladys full in the face.

She blushed again, but returned his gaze with a quiet, grave look that seemed to wonder at the question.  She did not reply at once, and Mr Prothero repeated it, louder than before, with the additional one of ’Do you hear, girl?’

‘Sir, I don’t like to make promises,’ said Gladys; ’suppose the temptation to break it ever came, and proved too strong for me.  I might perjure myself.’

‘Then you mean to marry my son Owen?’

’No, sir, I don’t think I shall ever marry him.  As far as I can see now, I am sure I never shall.’

‘Name o’ goodness, what does the girl mean?  You don’t mean to marry him, and yet you ‘ont promise—­what do you mean?’

’I scarcely know myself, sir.  But I cannot tell what God may appoint for me in the future, and so I cannot make a solemn promise.’