"Really. I shall be most happy to hear it."
George took his cue. "I have to ask you for the hand of your daughter Dorothy," he said, looking very proud and manly as he stood with the girl's hand within his own.
"Really," said Mrs. Ward again, "I don't know. I fancied that Walter, you see----" And she cast her eyes on the neat little man.
"Oh, I scratch," said Walter, in his elegant way. "There's no fighting against George. He has all the luck."
"You call him George?"
"Why shouldn't I? He's my cousin; the head of the house----"
"When I go to my long home," finished Derrington. "Well, Mrs. Ward, do you consent to the match?"
"Do, mother," said Dorothy, imploringly.
Mrs. Ward sank into a chair and pretended to be overcome by emotion. In fact, she did this merely to gain time, as she did not wish to answer too quickly. It was plain that Walter, whom she had wished Dorothy to marry, took, in her own phraseology, "a back seat." George was promoted vice Walter resigned. George would be Lord Derrington and would have the money. He was an obstinate man, certainly, and would be difficult to manage.
Still, she might be able to get the better of him. She could always work him through Dorothy, if Dorothy would only get over her absurd notions of religion and all that sort of thing. On the whole Mrs. Ward thought it was best to agree. Knowing what Derrington knew, and how obstinate both lovers were, she did not see very well what else she could do. However, she made the most of her compulsory surrender. After a few sighs, and having squeezed a few tears, she cried to her daughter, in a muffled voice, expressive of deep emotion, "Dorothy, my dear child."