"And I, suppose," continued Dacres, with a sneer, "our handsome,
dark-eyed little Italian cavalier is going with us. Ha, ha, ha! He's
at the house all the time, no doubt."

"Well, yes; he was there once."

"Ah! of course--quite devoted."

"Oh yes; but don't be afraid. It was not to the child-angel. She
appears to avoid him. That's really quite evident. It's an apparent
aversion on her part."

Dacres drew a long breath.

"Oh," said he; "and so I suppose it's not _her_ that _he_ goes after.
I did not suppose that it was. Oh no. There's another one--more
piquant, you know--ha, ha!--a devoted lover--saved her life--quite
devoted--and she sits and accepts his attentions. Yet she's seen me,
and knows that I'm watching her. Don't she know _me_? Does she want
any further proof of what I am ready to do? The ruins of Dacres Grange
should serve her for life. She tempts fate when she carries on her
gallantries and her Italian cicisbeism under the eyes of Scone Dacres.
It'll end bad. By Heaven, it will!"

Scone Dacres breathed hard, and, raising his head, turned upon Hawbury
a pair of eyes whose glow seemed of fire.

"Bad!" he repeated, crashing his fist on the table. "Bad, by Heaven!"