times to speak to
him about it, but he warded me off, and when I did speak, I feared that he
was not inclined to it."

"Yes," interrupted the headstrong girl, apparently bent upon destroying
both of us. "He pretended that he did not wish to marry me. He said he
wished me to give a sham consent for the purpose of gaining time till we
might hit upon some plan by which we could change your mind. He said he
had no desire nor intention to marry me. It was but a poor, lame ruse on
his part."

During Dorothy's recital Sir George turned his face from her to me. When
she had finished speaking, he looked at me for a moment and said:--

"Does my daughter speak the truth? Did you say--"

"Yes," I promptly replied, "I have no intention of marrying your
daughter." Then hoping to place myself before Sir George in a better
light, I continued: "I could not accept the hand of a lady against her
will. I told you as much when we conversed on the subject."

"What?" exclaimed Sir George, furious with anger. "You too? You whom I
have befriended?"

"I told you, Sir George, I would not marry Dorothy without her free
consent. No gentleman of honor would accept the enforced compliance of a
woman."

"But Doll says that you told her you had no intention of marrying her even
should she consent," replied Sir George.

"I don't know that I spoke those exact words," I replied, "but you may
consider them said."

"You damned, ungrateful, treacherous hound!" stormed Sir George. "You
listened to me when I offered you my daughter's hand, and you pretended to
consent without at the time having any intention of doing so."

"That, I suppose, is true, Sir George," said I, making a masterful effort
against anger. "That is true, for I knew that Dorothy would not consent;
and had I been inclined to the marriage, I repeat, I would marry no woman
against her will. No gentleman would do it."

My remark threw Sir George into a paroxysm of rage.

"I did it, you cur, you dog, you--you traitorous, ungrateful--I did it."

"Then, Sir George," said I, interrupting him, for I was no longer able to
restrain my anger, "you were a cowardly poltroon."

"This to me in my house!" he cried, grasping a chair with which to strike
me. Dorothy came between us.

"Yes," said I, "and as much more as you wish to hear." I stood my ground,
and Sir George put down the chair.

"Leave my house at once," he said in a whisper of rage.

"If you are on my premises in one hour f