“Come here and sit down, Isa,” he said, in quiet, measured tones. “There, don’t tremble,” he said, as he took her hand. “I’m not very angry with you, and I’m not going to scold and play the tyrant. You have just refused Lord Maudlaine, when you know that for months past it has been an understood thing that he was to be your husband. I do not ask you why you have done this, because I know. While we were in Italy there was no opposition shown upon your side; since we have returned you have often made me blush for the coldness—almost rudeness—with which you have treated him.”
“Oh, papa!” exclaimed Isa, appealingly.
“You must hear me out,” he said sternly. “I will tell you why you are cold to him: it is because you think that you love this Brace Norton; and, irrespective of the feeling between our houses, were he a man of honour, he would, after my words to him, have ceased his persecution.”
“Your words!” faltered Isa.
“My words,” he said sternly. “I saw him, and I have appealed to him in every way, but only to meet with an obstinate refusal. Then I brought to bear means that at the time I believed to be effectual. This is no silly romance of love, my child, but stern fact, that I have to deal with. I have chosen Lord Maudlaine to be your husband. You will be a titled lady, and some day wear a Countess’s coronet. You will both be wealthy, and let me tell you that it is an alliance to be proud of. Now, promise me that, if I send him in, you will accede to his proposals.”
Isa was silent.
“You hear me, Isa,” he said, gently—“why do you not reply? You will accede to his wishes, will you not?”
“I cannot,” said Isa, in a whisper. “It would be a mockery!”
“Absurd, silly, romantic nonsense, my child! You must accept him, and at once. I wish to have your marriage off my mind before I return to Italy; for I cannot stay in this place.”
“Let us go, then, together!” said Isa, eagerly. “Why do you trouble about this matter at all?”