"Dear me! I should have thought your father would be the proper person."
"Papa has written;—but you know what papa is."
"Does the Duke know of it,—or my mother?"
"It partly went on at Mistletoe. I would tell you the whole story if I knew how." Then she did tell him her story, during the telling of which he sat profoundly silent. She had gone to stay with Lady Penwether at Lord Rufford's house, and then he had first told her of his love. Then they had agreed to meet at Mistletoe, and she had begged her aunt to receive her. She had not told her aunt at once, and her aunt had been angry with her because they had walked together. Then she had told everything to the Duchess and had begged the Duchess to ask the Duke to speak to Lord Rufford. At Mistletoe Lord Rufford had twice renewed his offer,—and she had then accepted him. But the Duke had not spoken to him before he left the place. She owned that she thought the Duchess had been a little hard to her. Of course she did not mean to complain, but the Duchess had been angry with her because she had hunted. And now, in answer to the note from herself, had come a letter from Lord Rufford in which he repudiated the engagement. "I only got it yesterday and I came at once to you. I do not think you will see your cousin treated in that way without raising your hand. You will remember that I have no brother?"
"But what can I do?" asked Lord Mistletoe.
She had taken great trouble with her face, so that she was able to burst out into tears. She had on a veil which partly concealed her. She did not believe in the effect of a pocket handkerchief, but sat with her face half averted. "Tell him what you think about it," she said.
"Such engagements, Arabella," he said, "should always be authenticated by a third party. It is for that reason that a girl generally refers her lover to her father before she allows herself to be considered as engaged."
"Think what my position has been! I wanted to refer him to my uncle and asked the Duchess."
"My mother must have had some reason. I'm sure she must. There isn't a woman in London knows how such things should be done better than my mother. I can write to Lord Rufford and ask him for an explanation; but I do not see what good it would do."
"If you were in earnest about it he would be—afraid of you."