DOROTHY SPEAKS HER MIND
Dorothy--to quote her father's words--had taken the bit between her
teeth and bolted. The squire had coaxed her, cajoled her, threatened
her, got angry with her, but all to no purpose. She stood before him
resolute and defiant, vowing that she would sooner die than marry Lord
Probus.
Sir John was at his wits' end. He saw his brightest hopes dissolving
before his eyes. If Dorothy carried out her threat, and refused to marry
the millionaire brewer, what was to become of him? All his hopes of
extricating himself from his present pecuniary embarrassments were
centred in his lordship. But if Dorothy deliberately broke the
engagement, Lord Probus would see him starve before raising a finger to
help him.
Fortunately, Lord Probus was in London, and knew nothing of Dorothy's
change of front. He had thought her somewhat cool when he went away, but
that he attributed to her long illness. Warmth of affection would no
doubt return with returning health and strength. Sir John had assured
him that she had not changed towards him in the least.
Dorothy's illness had been a great disappointment to both men. All
delays were dangerous, and there was always the off-chance that Dorothy
might awake from her girlish day-dream and discover that not only her
feeling toward Lord Probus, but also her views of matrimony, had
undergone an entire change.
Sir John had received warning of the change on that stormy day when
Ralph Penlogan had visited him to tell him that his father was dead. But
he had put her words out of his mind as quickly as possible. Whatever
else they might mean, he could not bring himself to believe that Dorothy
would deliberately break a sacred and solemn pledge.
But a few weeks later matters came to a head. It was on Dorothy's return
from a visit to the Penlogans' cottage at St. Goram that the truth came
out.
Sir John met her crossing the hall with a basket on her arm.
"Where have you been all the afternoon?" he questioned sharply.
"I have been to see poor Mrs. Penlogan," she said, "who is anything but
well."
"It seems to me you are very fond of visiting the Penlogans," he said
crossly. "I suppose that lazy son is still hanging on to his mother,
doing nothing?"
"I don't think you ought to say he is lazy," she said, flushing
slightly. "He has been to St. Ivel Mine to-day to try to get work,
though Dr. Barrow says he ought not to think of working for another
month."
"Dr. Barrow is an old woman in some things," he retorted.
"I think he is a very clever man," she answered; "and we ought to be
grateful for what he did for me."
"Oh, that is quite another matter. But I suppose you found the Penlogans
full of abuse still of the ground landlord?"
"No, I did not," she answered. "Lord St. Goram's name was never
mentioned."
"Oh!" he said shortly, and turned on his heel and walked away.
"She evidently doesn't know yet that I'm the ground landlord," he
reflected. "I wonder what she will say when she does know? I've half a
mind to tell her myself and face it out. If I thought it would prevent
her going to the Penlogans' cottage, I would tell her, too. Curse them!
They've scored off me by not telling the girl." And he closed the
library door behind him and dropped into an easy-chair.
He came to the conclusion after a while that he would not tell her. All
things considered, it was better that she should remain in ignorance. In
a few weeks, or months at the outside, he hoped she would be Lady
Probus, and then she would forget all about the Penlogans and their
grievance.
He took the poker and thrust it into the fire, and sent a cheerful blaze
roaring up the chimney. Then he edged himself back into his easy-chair
and stared at the grate.
"It's quite time the wedding-day was fixed," he said to himself at
length. "Dorothy is almost as well as ever, and there's no reason
whatever why it should be any longer delayed. I hope she isn't beginning
to think too seriously about the matter. In a case like this, the less
the girl thinks the better."
The short November day was fading rapidly, but the fire filled the room
with a warm and ruddy light.
He touched the bell at length, and a moment or two later a servant stood
at the open door.
"Tell your young mistress when she comes downstairs that I want to see
her."
"Yes, sir." And the servant departed noiselessly from the room.
Sir John edged his chair a few inches nearer the fire. He was feeling
very nervous and ill at ease, but he was determined to bring matters to
a head. He knew that Lord Probus was getting impatient, and he was just
as impatient himself. Moreover, delays were often fatal to the best-laid
plans.
Dorothy came slowly into the room, and with a troubled look in her eyes.
"You wanted to see me, father?" she questioned timidly.
"Yes, I wanted to have a little talk with you. Please sit down." And he
continued to stare at the fire.
Dorothy seated herself in an easy-chair on the other side of the
fireplace and waited. If he was nervous and ill at ease, she was no less
so. She had a shrewd suspicion of what was coming, and she dreaded the
encounter. Nevertheless, she had fully made up her mind as to the course
she intended to take, and she was no longer a child to be wheedled into
anything.
Sir John looked up suddenly.
"I have been thinking, Dorothy," he said, "that we ought to get the
wedding over before Christmas. You seem almost as well as ever now, and
there is no reason as far as I can see why the postponed ceremony should
be any longer delayed."
"Are you in such a great hurry to get rid of me?" she questioned, with a
pathetic smile.
"My dear, I do not want to get rid of you at all. You know the old tag,
'A daughter's a daughter all the days of her life,' and you will be none
the less my child when you are the mistress of Rostrevor Castle."
"I shall never be the mistress of Rostrevor Castle," she replied, with
downcast eyes.
"Never be the mistress of--never? What do you mean, Dorothy?" And he
turned hastily round in his chair and stared at her.
"I was only a child when I promised," she said timidly, "and I did not
know anything. I thought it would be a fine thing to have a title and a
house in town, and everything that my foolish heart could desire, and I
did not understand what marriage to an old man would mean."
"Lord Probus is anything but an old man," he said hastily. "He is in his
prime yet."
"But if he were thirty years younger it would be all the same," she
answered quietly. "You see, father, I have discovered that I do not love
him."
"And you fancy that you love somebody else?" he said, with a sneer.
"I did not say anything of the kind," she said, raising her eyes
suddenly to his. "But I know I don't love Lord Probus, and I know I
never shall."
"Oh, this is simple nonsense!" he replied angrily. "You cannot play fast
and loose in this way. You have given your solemn promise to Lord
Probus, and you cannot go back on it."
"But I _can_ go back on it, and I will!"
"You mean that you will defy us both, and defy the law into the
bargain?"
"There is no law to compel me to marry a man against my will," she said,
with spirit.
"If there is no law to compel you, there's a power that can force you to
keep your promise," he said, with suppressed passion.
"What power do you refer to?" she questioned.
"The power of my will," he answered. "Do you think I am going to allow a
scandal of this kind to take place?"
"It would be a greater scandal if I married him," she replied.
"Look here, Dorothy," he said. "We had better look at this matter in the
light of reason and common sense----"
"That is what I am doing," she interrupted. "I had neither when I gave
my promise to Lord Probus. I was just home from school; I knew nothing
of the world; I had scarcely a serious thought in my head. My illness
has given me time to think and reflect; it has opened my eyes----"
"And taken away your moral sense," he snarled.
"No, father, I don't think so at all," she answered mildly. "Feeling as
I do now, it would be wicked to marry Lord Probus."
He rose to his feet and faced her angrily.
"Look here, Dorothy," he said. "I am not the man to be thwarted in a
thing of this kind. My reputation is in a sense at stake. You have gone
too far to draw back now. We should be made the laughing-stock of the
entire county. If you had any personal objection to Lord Probus, you
should have discovered it before you promised to marry him. Now that all
arrangements are made for the wedding, it is too late to draw back."
"No, father, it is not too late; and I am thankful for my illness,
because it has opened my eyes."
"And all this has come about through that detestable young scoundrel who
refused to open a gate for you."
In a moment her face flushed crimson, and she turned quickly and walked
out of the room.
"By Jove, what does this mean?" Sir John said to himself angrily when
the door closed behind her. "What new influences have been at work, I
wonder, or what quixotic or romantic notions has she been getting into
her head? Can it be possible--but no, no, that is too absurd! And yet
things quite as strange have happened. If I find--great Scott, won't we
be quits!" And Sir John paced up and down the room like a caged bear.
He did not refer to the subject again that day, nor the next. But he
kept his eyes and ears open, and he drew one or two more or less
disquieting conclusions.
That a change had come over Dorothy was clear. In fact, she was changed
in many ways. She seemed to have passed suddenly from girlhood into
womanhood. But what lay at the back of this change? Was her illness to
bear the entire responsibility, or had other influences been at work?
Was the romantic notion she had got into her mind due to natural
development, or had some youthful face caught her fancy and touched her
heart?
But during all those long weeks of her illness she had seen no one but
the doctor and vicar and Lord Probus, except--and Sir John gave his
beard an impatient tug.
By dint of careful inquiry, he got hold of the entire story, not merely
of Dorothy's accident, but of the part she had played in Ralph
Penlogan's accident.
"Great Scott!" he said to himself, an angry light coming into his eyes.
"If, knowingly or unknowingly, that young scoundrel is at the bottom of
this business, then he can cry quits with a vengeance."
The more he allowed his mind to dwell on this view of the case, the more
clear it became to him. There was no denying that Ralph Penlogan was
handsome. Moreover, he was well educated and clever. Dorothy, on the
other hand, was in the most romantic period of her life. She had found
him in the plantation badly hurt, and her sympathies would go out to him
in a moment. Under such circumstances, and in her present mood, social
differences would count for nothing. She might lose her heart to him
before she was aware. He, of course, being inherently bad--for Sir John
would not allow that the lower orders, as he termed them, possessed any
sense of honour whatever--would take advantage of her weakness and play
upon the romantic side of her nature to the full, with the result that
she was quite prepared to fling over Lord Probus, or to pose as a
martyr, or to pine for love in a cottage, or do any other idiotic thing
that her silly and sentimental heart might dictate.
As the days passed away Sir John had very great difficulty in being
civil to his daughter. Also, he kept a strict watch himself on all her
movements, and put a stop to her playing my Lady Bountiful among the
sick poor of St. Goram.
He hoped in his quieter moments that it was only a passing madness, and
that it would disappear as suddenly as it came. If she could be kept
away from pernicious and disquieting influences for a week or two she
might get back to her normal condition.
Sir John was debating this view of the question one evening with himself
when the door was flung suddenly open, and Lord Probus stood before him,
looking very perturbed and excited.
The baronet sprang out of his chair in a moment, and greeted his guest
effusively. "My dear Probus," he said, "I did not know you were in the
county. When did you return?"
"I came down to-day," was the answer. "I came in response to a letter I
received from your daughter last night. Where is she? I wish to see her
at once."
"A moment, sir," the baronet said appealingly. "What has she been
writing to you?"
"I hardly know whether I should discuss the matter with you until I have
seen her," was the somewhat chilly answer.
"She has asked to be released from her engagement," Sir John said
eagerly. "I can see it in your face. The truth is, the child is a bit
unhinged."
"Then she has spoken to you?" his lordship interrupted.
"Well, yes, but I came to the conclusion that it was only a passing
mood. She has not picked up her strength as rapidly as I could have
desired, but, given time, and I have little doubt she will be just the
same as ever. I am sorry she has written to you on the matter."
"I noticed a change in her before I went away. In fact, she was
decidedly cool."
"But it will pass, my lord. I am sure it will. We must not hurry her.
Don't take her 'No' as final. Let the matter remain in abeyance for a
month or two. Now I will ring for her and leave you together. But take
my advice and don't let her settle the matter now."
Sir John met Dorothy in the hall, and intimated that Lord Probus was
waiting for her in the library. She betrayed no surprise whatever. In
fact, she expected he would hurry back on receipt of her letter, and so
was quite ready for the interview.
They did not remain long together. Lord Probus saw that, for the present
at any rate, her mind was absolutely made up. But he was not prepared,
nevertheless, to relinquish his prize.
She looked lovelier in his eyes than she had ever done before. He felt
the charm of her budding womanhood. She was no longer a schoolgirl to be
wheedled and influenced by the promise of pretty things. Her eyes had a
new light in them, her manner an added dignity.
"Be assured," he said to her, in his most chivalrous manner, "that your
happiness is more to me than my own. But we will not regard the matter
as settled yet. Let things remain in abeyance for a month or two."
"It is better we should understand each other once for all," she said
decisively, "for I am quite sure time will only confirm me in my
resolution."
"No, no. Don't say that," he pleaded. "Think of all I can give you, of
all that I will do for you, of all the love and care I will lavish upon
you. You owe it to me not to do this thing rashly. Let us wait, say,
till the new year, and then we will talk the matter over again." And he
took her hand and kissed it, and then walked slowly out of the room.