"Don't be dramatic," Sir George interrupted.
"I didn't know that I was. I only want to have a clear understanding. Oh, the thing is monstrous. You cannot realize what you are saying. If you have no sort of feeling for yourself or me, just try to imagine what our friends will say. We know many people who would decline to be on visiting terms with Mr. Copley. There are lots of houses where he could not go. Even if I were fond of the man and could meet your wishes, it would be a long time before certain of our neighbours forgave me. What will you say when you meet them racing, or hunting, or shooting? Do you suppose this thing can be kept quiet? Do you suppose everybody won't know why I left home? Do you believe for a moment that common gossip will not say that you turned your daughter out because she refused to marry a man whom you declined to call upon for months after he came here? I know such things happen in the case of boys, but I never yet heard of a father in your position who sent his daughter away because she refused to sell herself to a person whom she both disliked and despised."
Sir George listened uncomfortably. He was violating all his best feelings. He knew what a sorry figure he must be cutting in the eyes of his daughter. Moreover, every word she said was true. This thing would get out. It would be a dainty morsel in the mouths of all the gossips, and, though he could rely upon May to be silent, other tongues would not be bridled. But he comforted himself with the assurance that things would never go as far as that, for when May saw that he was in earnest she would yield. There might be tears and reproaches, but in the end she would bow to his wishes, and though Copley was not popular, yet he would be accepted in time on the strength of being Sir George Haredale's son-in-law.
"There are reasons why this must be," he said. "I am under obligations to Copley, under great obligations. Besides, he is paying you the greatest compliment in his power. There are many girls——"
"Oh, what have the majority of girls to do with me? I am not like them. I have not been trained in the same school. I know lots of my friends regard matrimony as a matter of business. They are too idle and selfish to think of anything but themselves. They would deem it a fine thing to have the spending of Mr. Copley's money. But I detest the man too much for that. He is not a gentleman, his manners are not good, and I am sure he is neither honest nor straightforward. I would do anything in my power to help you, but if it comes to this, that Haredale Park can only be preserved to us by this hateful marriage, then I decline. It is too great a sacrifice to ask of your daughter. Oh, how can you even make the suggestion?"
"You will think better of it," Sir George said.
"Never! I have said the last word. I will not allude to it again, and, unless you take back what you have said, I will accept you at your word and go out into the world and earn my own living. Don't mention it again."
Sir George looked uneasily at his daughter. Her austere sternness disturbed him. He said that Copley was coming over later in the evening to hear what May had to say on the matter.
"Very well," she answered, "I am rather glad of that. I shall be able to settle this thing for ever."
She turned and swept from the room. She was glad she had kept the tears out of her eyes. She was glad Sir George little knew how terribly he had wounded her. For the rest of the day May went about the house as though nothing had happened. She had a smile and a pleasant word for her visitor, so that even Sir George took heart of grace and deluded himself with the idea that his firmness had not been misplaced. It was only when Copley came that he found out how mistaken he was. Copley had no difficulty in getting May to himself, for Alice Carden was deeply engrossed in a book, and Sir George was sitting over his cigar in the library. At the very first hint of the reason for his visit May turned to him.