"I know he is the dearest fellow in the world, aunt; but, like yourself, his position is unknown to me."
Mrs. Coppersley rose aghast. "Do you mean to say that you would marry a man about whom you know nothing?" she demanded.
"I know sufficient to choose him for my husband," retorted Bella, spiritedly; "and I intend to marry him, in spite of my father's bullying."
"Then your father will not give you a single penny," cried Mrs. Coppersley. "I approve of his doing so. You can't marry this man."
"Oh!" said Bella, bitterly. "I thought you agreed that a woman should choose her own husband."
"A woman like myself, who knows life, Bella—not a chit of a girl like you."
"I am twenty years of age," flashed out her niece.
"And have the sense of a babe of three," scoffed Mrs. Coppersley, moving towards the door. "Perhaps a night of loneliness will bring you to your senses, my dear." She passed through the door and closed it. "I am locking you in, by your father's wish," said Mrs. Coppersley from the other side.
Bella, white with rage at this indignity, sprang to wrench open the door, but almost before she reached it, the key clicked in the lock, and she knew that she was a prisoner. And the door was so stout and strong that there was no chance of a frail girl, such as she was, breaking it down. But Bella was in a royal rage, and it was in her mind to scramble out of the window and escape.
"But what's the use!" she thought, her eyes filling with impotent tears. "I have no money, and no friends, and no other home. What a shame it is for me to be at the mercy of my father in this way! I shall have to submit to this insult. There is nothing else I can do. But oh, oh!"—she clenched her hands as she again returned to the window and looked out into the rapidly darkening night. "I shall insist upon Cyril marrying me at once. If he loves me he surely will not stand by idly, when I am treated in this way."