Your sincere friend,
“Norah O’Hara.”
“I have lost my friend and sweetheart both, by lying too late,” said Colonel Dacre to himself, with a dreary sigh; for he was not dolt enough even to inquire if the two ladies were still at the “Langham.”
Colonel Dacre smashed the clock before he went down to breakfast, and only smiled grimly when he saw that five pounds was charged for the damage in his bill.
On second thoughts, he stayed where he was that day because it was no use going anywhere else. He was utterly discouraged now. The strength of Lady Gwendolyn’s will frightened him.
He had fancied that all women were weak and yielding, and here was one who made a resolution, and kept it, as he believed, for duty’s sake, although her heart was pulling her the opposite way.
It was quite a revelation, and somehow made him respect all women more for her sake. He wished now he had held her fast when she was in his power, and made her marry him right off.
Lord Teignmouth had forfeited all claim to be consulted, and, though Gwendolyn hesitated and argued now, he had a notion she would not have been sorry to have had the decision taken out of her hands.
“Gwendolyn is just the kind of woman to admire a man who conquers her,” Colonel Dacre said to himself. “But the least hesitation or weakness of purpose would spoil all. She must see in me only the master who commands—not the lover who pleads—or she will writhe out of my grasp, somehow, even at the altar rails. Oh! if I had only been wiser, and more understanding, how happy I might be now!”
He determined to show Lady Gwendolyn that he had some fertility of resource, and as strong a will as her own, the next time they met; and with this view he went off to Doctors’ Commons, and bought a special license. Then, all things being fair in love and war, and the position being very hopeless under its present aspect, he descended to a ruse, which, under ordinary circumstances, would have been unpardonable.