Laverne threw herself at her stepmother's feet, and clasped her hands in entreaty. "Oh, do not, do not compel me," she cried, in anguish. "I do not care for the Grange nor the money. If you will only send me back to America——"
"I shall not send you back. I am your natural, lawful guardian now. I shall do what I consider best for you, and in the years to come you will thank me for it. There, we will have no discussion."
What should she do? A dozen plans came and went through her brain. She remembered how Carmen Estenega had run away from a hateful marriage. But she had an ardent lover. This would be such a long journey, and she would have no friends on the way. Should she appeal to Victor? Oh, no, she could not. Yet she had a consciousness that he would respond at once.
She was coming to have a strange fear of Mrs. Westbury, as if she might dominate all her life. Surely she would if this marriage should take place. Oh, it could not. She would not consent even at the last moment. No one was forced to marry. Ah, would not Carmen have been forced?
Lord Wrexford came and went. There were visits from lawyers and directors, and calls of condolence. A certain kind of peace, but it seemed like an armed truce. And Laverne realized more thoroughly every day that there had never been any true and tender love for her in Mrs. Westbury's heart. She was older now, and could see more clearly, had more discrimination, yet she did wonder why her father's wife had been so exigent. She could not understand the vanity, the selfish desire for the admiration of this young soul. And she also saw that Mrs. Westbury sought her own advantage in this marriage. To be allied to the higher orders, to be the mother-in-law to Lord Wrexford, to have the entrée into the charmed circles. How had she grown so wise!
She thought of her father with infinite pity, that he should have been wrenched out of the life he enjoyed so much. She felt that he had never truly loved her, and that she had not succeeded in loving him. Always her heart was turning back to Uncle Jason. Yes, that was the sweet, tender, and true life, finer and nobler than this striving and subterfuge, this greediness for wealth and high places.
Lord Wrexford came one afternoon, quite a custom with him now. Mrs. Westbury had been sent for to some important meeting. He walked in with the easy familiarity that characterized him, and passed a few pleasant conventionalities. How many times she had thought if she could see him alone, and now that the opportunity had come she trembled with a certain kind of fear and shame. What could she say to a man who had not yet asked her to marry him?
He began to perceive that she was unduly excited. The color wavering over her face and the quivering lips touched him. He was not a heartless man, and every day he was feeling this was more of a dilemma for him.
"My child," he began, rather blunderingly, realizing all the years between them, and then he saw that her eyes were overflowing.
"Lord Wrexford," she tried to steady her voice, but it trembled noticeably, "I believe I have been offered to you as—as—an equivalent——"