‘Come back, Theodora. I must know that you are not going to carry further this ill-usage of a most excellent man, more sincerely attached to you than you deserve. I insist on knowing what you intend to say to him.’
To insist was not the way to succeed with Theodora.
‘I do not exactly know,’ said she.
‘I wish I knew what to do with you!’ sighed Lord Martindale, in anger, grief, and perplexity. ‘You seem to think that people’s affections are made to serve for your vanity and sport, and when you have tormented them long enough, you cast them off!’
Theodora drew her head up higher, and swelled at the injustice. It was at that moment that Lord St. Erme entered the room. She went forward to meet him, and spoke at once. ‘I am glad you are here,’ said she, proudly pleased that her father should see her vindication from the charge of trifling. ‘You are come to hear what I had been desiring my father to tell you. I have used you very ill, and it is time to put a stop to it.’
Lord St. Erme looked from her to her father in wonder and dismay.
‘First understand,’ said Lord Martindale, ‘that this is no doing of mine; I am heartily grieved, but I will leave you. Perhaps you may prevail on this wilful girl—’
Theodora began a protest, and desired him to remain; but he would not, and she found herself alone with her bewildered lover.
‘What is this? what have I done?’ he began.
‘You have done nothing,’ said she. ‘It is all my own fault. The truth will be a cure for your regrets, and I owe you an explanation. I was engaged to one whom I had known from childhood, but we disputed—my temper was headstrong. He rejected me, and I thought I scorned him, and we parted. You came in my way while I was angry, before I knew that I can never lose my feelings towards him. I know I have seemed to trifle with you; but false shame hindered me from confessing how matters really stood. You ought to rejoice in being freed from such as I am.’