"Was that wise?"
"Yes. I'd rather he shouldn't hate me."
The words ended in a short catch of her breath.
"Dear Doris—by-and by—"
"Oh, please don't. Mother, please leave me alone. It is done; and I feel—horrid. It is Dick that I am miserable about. I know what it will mean to him. But I'd rather not talk—any more."
[CHAPTER XXXIV]
Foiled
ONE hour more, and Richard Maurice would be off to Lynnbrooke,—to ask and claim his Doris. He had reached his London hotel the evening before; and two days after he was due in Edinburgh.
He was anxious and in suspense, of course; that goes without saying. But the tone of his mind was pitched in high hope and confidence; nay, certainty. He had no doubt of results.
His plan was to stay at Lynnbrooke Inn for a couple of nights; thus allowing as much time as possible for interviews with Doris and her parents,—also for seeing the Squire. He recognised that open speech with the latter had become a necessity. Mr. Stirling might be "only a friend," but he had been a most generous friend; and while Maurice was, without question, free to decide for himself, he was, also without question, indebted in no common degree to his benefactor. The past could not be ignored. His going at all to Lynnbrooke was an act of revolt; and though he did not intend to be prevented, he did intend to explain and apologise.