He felt the colour leave his face. He knew he was
ghastly pale. The little arbour seemed to close in on him and stifle
him. He could scarcely breathe. He murmured, his eyes half closed,
as if picturing some vivid nightmare: "Engaged! Don't, mother,
please." He trembled again: "Good lord! Engaged to that tomboy!" The
thought seemed to strike him to the very core of his being. He who
might ally himself with anyone sacrificing his hopes of happiness
and advancement with a child of the earth.
"Don't, mother!" he repeated in a cry of entreaty.
"She has the blood of the Kingsnorths!" reminded, Mrs. Chichester.
"It is pretty well covered up in O'Connell Irish," replied Alaric
bitterly. "Please don't say any more, mater. You have upset me for
the day. Really, you have for the whole day." But his mother was not
to be shaken so easily in her determination. She went on:
"She has the breeding of my sister Angela, dear."
"You wouldn't think it to watch her and listen to her. Now, once and
for all" and he tried to pass his mother and go into the garden.
There was no escape. Mrs. Chichester held him firmly:
"She will have five thousand pounds a year when she is twenty-one!"
She looked the alarmed youth straight in the eyes.
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