“Father, you never can tell how much brains men like with their beauty. Very little will do generally. And Dora has beauty—great beauty; no one can deny that. I think Dora is giving up a great deal. To her, at least, marriage is a state of passing from perfect freedom into the comparative condition of a slave, giving up her own way constantly for some one else’s way.”
“Well, Ethel, the remedy is in the lady’s hands. She is not forced to marry, and the slavery that is voluntary is no hardship. Now, my dear, I have a case to look over, and you must excuse me to-night. To-morrow we shall know more concerning Mr. Mostyn, and it is easier to talk about certainties than probabilities.”
But if conversation ceased about Mr. Mostyn, thought did not; for, a couple of hours afterwards, Ethel tapped at her aunt’s door and said, “Just a moment, Ruth.”
“Yes, dear, what is it?”
“Did you notice what father said about the mortgage on Rawdon Manor”’
“Yes.”
“He seemed to know all about it.”
“I think he does know all about it.”
“Do you think he holds it?”
“He may do so—it is not unlikely.”