"That is what it comes to," she rejoined. "It is only the last two days that I have noticed such a change in my father. Harry, do you think it is as bad as he says it is? He tells me that unless I consent to marry Mr. Copley we shall be ruined and be turned out of the house without so much as a penny. It seems incredible. I can't understand a man with an atom of self-respect who would compel a girl to marry him against her will. It isn't as if I were rich, or intellectual, or beautiful."
Harry thought he could understand. Indeed, any man could understand who looked down into the pretty, pleading, anxious face that was turned up towards Fielden.
"There is no accounting for people like Copley," he said. "He is the kind of man that has not an atom of consideration for anybody but himself. He has no heart or conscience, and the more unattainable a thing is the more he longs for it. He cannot win you; therefore, you are the one thing in the world that he passionately desires. God help the woman, however fascinating and beautiful, who becomes Copley's wife! It would mean years of brutality and neglect and self-contempt. You mustn't, May. I understand the duty you owe to your father, but no man has a right to exact such a sacrifice as that. Don't you think I had better see Sir George and give him a hint of the sort of man Copley is?"
May shook her head resolutely.
"I am afraid that would do more harm than good," she said. "I must fight my battle alone, Harry, and if you interfered my father might forbid you Haredale Park. He has already hinted that, if you had not come home again, I should have been willing to become Mrs. Raymond Copley, and if I were not allowed to see you I don't know what I should do. There is nobody else I could confide in. But I will let you know how things go on. We had better go back. I feel better for this confession."
But it seemed a hopeless business, and Fielden's face was sad and gloomy as he strode alongside May towards the stand.
Ah! but hope was not dead yet.
CHAPTER XVIII
AN EVENING VISIT
FOR once Sir George Haredale did not seem to be in the least pleased to see Fielden. He was standing on the lower steps of the stand talking to Major Carden with the air of one who is conversing with an old acquaintance. By Carden's side was his daughter, eager and interested, following all that was going on around her with the zest and enjoyment of a child.