The boy stared at him. "My sister?" he said slowly, his face growing red. "With Dr. Keith? What business could she have with him?"
"With Dr. Keith?" Hawkesworth asked lightly. "Why not the same as yours, dear boy?"
"Why not? Because she's a Maitland!" the lad answered, and his eyes flashed. "Our women don't marry that way, I'd have you to know! Why, I'd--I'd rather see her buried."
"But you're going to marry that way yourself!" Hawkesworth reasoned. The boy's innocence surprised him a little and amused him more.
"I? But I'm a man," Tom answered with dignity. "I'm different. And--and Oriana," he continued, plunging on a sudden into dreadful confusion and redness of face, "is--is different of course, because--well, because if we are not married in this way, my brother Northey would interfere, and we could not be married at all. Oriana is an angel, and--and because she loves me, is willing to be married in this way. That's all, you see."
"I see. But you would not like your sister to be married on the quiet?"
Tom glared at him. "No," he said curtly. "And for the why, it is my business."
"To be sure it is! Of course it is. And yet, Sir Tom," Hawkesworth continued, his tone provoking, "I would not mind wagering you a hundred it is the way she will be married, when her time comes."
"Nay, I don't mind going farther," Hawkesworth continued. "I'll wager you the same sum that she does it within the year."
Tom jumped up in heat. "What the devil do you mean?" he cried. Then he sat down again. "But what matter!" he said, "I'll take you."
Hawkesworth as he pulled out his betting book turned his head aside to hide a smile. "I note it," he said. "'P. H. bets Sir Thomas Maitland a hundred that Miss Sophia Maitland is married at Dr. Keith's chapel; and another hundred that the marriage is within the year.'"
"Right!" Tom said, glowering at him. His boyish estimate of the importance of his family, and of the sacredness of his womankind, sucked the flavour from the bet; ordinarily the young scapegrace loved a wager.
Hawkesworth put up his book again. "Good," he said. "You'll see that that will be two hundred in my pocket some day."
"Not it!" Tom answered, rudely. "My sister is not that sort! And perhaps the sooner you know it, the better," he added, aggressively.