“I don’t know, my dear,” said Lady Rea. “I blame myself sometimes for not being more determined; but I’m obliged to own that Captain Vanleigh has been very patient, and he must care for you.”
Tiny shuddered again, and her sobs became so violent that Lady Rea drew up the carriage window, for a few minutes being quite alarmed. At length, though, the poor girl grew calm, and seemed to make an effort over herself as they neared home, just as Fin crossed the road from the square garden, looking as innocent as if she had not had half an hour’s talk with Frank Pratt.
At Home.
“And what do you mean to do, Tiny?” said Fin, as she stood by her sister’s side, dressed for the evening. “Papa told me about it, and nearly boxed my ears because I said it was a shame; and he ended by saying if I did not follow your example, and listen to Sir Felix, he would keep me on bread and water; and then I laughed out loud, and he left the room in a fury. How could you be so weak?”
“I don’t know,” faltered Tiny, “only that I was very miserable. Constant dropping will wear a stone.”
“Then the stone must be very soft. Withdraw your promise,” cried Fin. “Do as I do. I’ll be as obedient a child as I can, but I will not be married against my will.”
“Please, Miss, somebody’s downstairs already,” said their maid, entering the room. “And Edward says Sir Hampton’s in a towering passion because there was no one but him in the drawing-room.”
“Isn’t mamma there?” cried Fin.
“No, Miss, her ladyship was dressed, and going down; but her primrose satin came undone—give way at the hooks and eyes—and she had to go back to change it.”