It was not encouraging, but she had made up her mind. ‘I have behaved very ill about all this, papa; I want you to forgive me.’
He came nearer to her, and studied her face, in dread lest there should be something behind. ‘I am always ready to forgive and listen to you,’ he said sadly.
She perceived that she had, indeed, given him much pain, and was softened, and anxious for him to be comforted by seeing that her fault, at least, was not the vanity and heartlessness that he supposed.
‘It was very wrong of me to answer you as I did yesterday,’ she said. ‘I know it was my own fault that Lord St. Erme was allowed to follow us.’
‘And why did you consent!’
‘I don’t know. Yes, I do, though; but that makes it worse. It was because my perverse temper was vexed at your warning me,’ said Theodora, looking down, much ashamed.
‘Then you never meant to accept him!’ exclaimed her father.
‘No, not exactly that; I thought I might,’ said she, slowly, and with difficulty.
‘Then what has produced this alteration?’
‘I will tell you,’ said she, recalling her resolution. ‘I did not know how much I cared for Percy Fotheringham. Yesterday there came a foolish report about his forming another attachment. I know it was not true; but the misery it gave me showed me that it would be sin and madness to engage myself to another.’