The next visitor was Vernon, exceedingly anxious for news of Mr. Dale.  Laetitia went into her father’s room to obtain it for him.  Returning, she found them both with sad visages, and she ventured, in alarm for them, to ask the cause.

“It’s this,” Vernon said:  “Willoughby will everlastingly tease that boy to be loved by him.  Perhaps, poor fellow, he had an excuse last night.  Anyhow, he went into Crossjay’s room this morning, woke him up and talked to him, and set the lad crying, and what with one thing and another Crossjay got a berry in his throat, as he calls it, and poured out everything he knew and all he had done.  I needn’t tell you the consequence.  He has ruined himself here for good, so I must take him.”

Vernon glanced at Clara.  “You must indeed,” said she.  “He is my boy as well as yours.  No chance of pardon?”

“It’s not likely.”

“Laetitia!”

“What can I do?”

“Oh! what can you not do?”

“I do not know.”

“Teach him to forgive!”

Laetitia’s brows were heavy and Clara forbore to torment her.

She would not descend to the family breakfast-table.  Clara would fain have stayed to drink tea with her in her own room, but a last act of conformity was demanded of the liberated young lady.  She promised to run up the moment breakfast was over.  Not unnaturally, therefore, Laetitia supposed it to be she to whom she gave admission, half an hour later, with a glad cry of, “Come in, dear.”

The knock had sounded like Clara’s.

Sir Willoughby entered.

He stepped forward.  He seized her hands.  “Dear!” he said.

“You cannot withdraw that.  You call me dear.  I am, I must be dear to you.  The word is out, by accident or not, but, by heaven, I have it and I give it up to no one.  And love me or not—­marry me, and my love will bring it back to you.  You have taught me I am not so strong.  I must have you by my side.  You have powers I did not credit you with.”

“You are mistaken in me, Sir Willoughby.”  Laetitia said feebly, outworn as she was.

“A woman who can resist me by declining to be my wife, through a whole night of entreaty, has the quality I need for my house, and I will batter at her ears for months, with as little rest as I had last night, before I surrender my chance of her.  But I told you last night I want you within the twelve hours.  I have staked my pride on it.  By noon you are mine:  you are introduced to Mrs. Mountstuart as mine, as the lady of my life and house.  And to the world!  I shall not let you go.”

“You will not detain me here, Sir Willoughby?”

“I will detain you.  I will use force and guile.  I will spare nothing.”

He raved for a term, as he had done overnight.

On his growing rather breathless, Laetitia said:  “You do not ask me for love?”

“I do not.  I pay you the higher compliment of asking for you, love or no love.  My love shall be enough.  Reward me or not.  I am not used to be denied.”