The ebullition of feeling seemed to have restored Dr. May’s calmness, and he rose, saying, “I must go to my work; the man is coming here this afternoon.”
“Where shall you see him?” Margaret asked.
“In my study, I suppose. I fear there is no chance of Flora’s changing her mind first. Or do you think one of you could talk to her, and get her fairly to contemplate the real bearings of the matter?” And, with these words, he left the room.
Margaret and Ethel glanced at each other; and both felt the impenetrability of Flora’s nature, so smooth, that all thrusts glided off.
“It will be of no use,” said Ethel; “and, what is more, she will not have it done.”
“Pray try; a few of your forcible words would set it in a new light.”
“Why! Do you think she will attend to me, when she has not chosen to heed papa?” said Ethel, with an emphasis of incredulity. “No; whatever Flora does, is done deliberately, and unalterably.”
“Still, I don’t know whether it is not our duty,” said Margaret.
“More yours than mine,” said Ethel.
Margaret flushed up. “Oh, no, I cannot!” she said, always timid, and slightly defective in moral courage. She looked so nervous and shaken by the bare idea of a remonstrance with Flora, that Ethel could not press her; and, though convinced that her representation would be useless, she owned that her conscience would rest better after she had spoken. “But there is Flora, walking in the garden with Norman,” she said. “No doubt he is doing it.”