“Who is who?” she gasped faintly.
Ah! now it was coming. She shook as if she had the ague.
“Who is this scoundrel, this low-born adventurer that you are in love with? Is it the man you knew at school? Is it the damned dancing-master, or some half-starved curate? Is it him you want to marry? Madeline, on your oath,” shaking her in his furious excitement and passion of apprehension, “is it him you want to marry?” he reiterated.
Madeline turned cold, but she looked full into the enraged face, so close to hers, and as he repeated, “On your oath, remember!” she answered with unfaltering and distinctly audible voice, “On my oath—no!” She spoke the truth, too! Was she not married to him already? Oh, if her father only guessed it! She dared not speculate on the idea! He would be worse, far worse than her worst anticipations. She could never tell him now.
“Father, I have said ‘No,’” she continued. “Let go my hand, you hurt me.” With the utterance of the last word she broke down and collapsed upon the nearest chair, sobbing hysterically.
“What the devil are you crying for?” he demanded angrily. “What I’ve said and done, I’ve done for your good. Take your own time, in reason; but marry you shall, and a title. Foster is the man of my choice. I don’t see what you can bring against him. We will all live together, and, for my own part, I should like it. You go to no poorer home, you become a lady of rank,—what more can any girl want? Money as much as she can spend, a husband and a father who hit it off to a T, both only too anxious to please her in every possible way, rank, and riches; what more would you have, eh?”
“Yes, I know all that!” gasped Madeline, making a great effort to master her agitation. She must protest now or never. “I know everything you would say; but I shall never marry Lord Anthony, and I would be wrong to let you think so. I like him; but, if he persists, I shall hate him. I have said ‘No’ once; let that be sufficient for him—and you!” Then, dreading the consequences of this rashly courageous speech, she got up and hurried out of the room, leaving her father in sole possession of the rug, and actually gasping for speech, his thin lips opening and shutting like a fish’s mouth—when the fish has just been landed. At last he found his voice.
“I don’t care one (a big D) for Madeline and her fancies, and this thunder in the air has upset her. A woman’s no means yes; and she shall marry Foster as sure as my name is Robert West.” To Lord Anthony he said, “I’d a little quiet talk with Madeline, and your name came up. She admitted that she liked you; so you just bide your time and wait. Everything comes to those who wait.”
To this Lord Tony nodded a dubious acquiescence. The poor fellow was thinking of his creditors. How would they like this motto? and how much longer would they wait?
“I told you she liked you,” pursued Mr. West consolingly—“she said so; so you have not even to begin with a little aversion. She has set her face against marriage; she declared she would not marry, and what’s more—and this scores for you—she gave me her word of honour that there was no one she wished to marry. So it’s a clear course and no favour, and the best man wins. And remember, Tony,” said her shrewd little parent, thumping, as he spoke, that gentleman’s reluctant shoulder, “that I back you, and it’s a good thing to have the father and the money on your side, let me tell you.”