I soon began to fear that I had praised Sir John overmuch.
"I think Sir John is all there is of Lord Rutland's family," I said, alarmed yet amused at Dorothy's search for an excuse not to hate my new-found friend.
"Well," she continued after a pause, throwing her head to one side, "I am sorry there are no more of that family not to hate."
"Dorothy! Dorothy!" I exclaimed. "What has come over you? You surprise me."
"Yes," she answered, with a little sigh, "I certainly have surprised myself by—by my willingness to forgive those who have injured my house. I did not know there was so much—so much good in me."
"Mistress Pharisee," thought I, "you are a hypocrite."
Again intending to be ironical, I said, "Shall I fetch him from the tap-room and present him to you?"
Once more my irony was lost upon the girl. Evidently that sort of humor was not my strong point.
"No, no," she responded indignantly, "I would not speak to him for—" Again she broke her sentence abruptly, and after a little pause, short in itself but amply long for a girl like Dorothy to change her mind two score times, she continued: "It would not be for the best. What think you, Cousin Malcolm?"
"Surely the girl has gone mad," thought I. Her voice was soft and conciliating as if to say, "I trust entirely to your mature, superior judgment."