“You accuse me of falsehood then. I say such was his wish!” declared Octavia, doggedly and sullenly.
Neva looked pained, perplexed, and deeply troubled.
“If this indeed be so,” she murmured, “then he could not have been in his right mind, terrible as it seems to utter the words. For there never was a truer, kinder father, or a more noble man, than papa. He thought my happiness of so much moment that he never would have dictated my course in such a vital matter as the acceptance or rejection of a lover, so long as the lover was worthy. I am sorry you have told me this, Mrs. Black. I am compelled to doubt papa’s complete sanity, or—or—”
“Or me?” said the handsome Octavia, with an ugly frown. “You ought to know me too well by this time to doubt me. Old gentlemen frequently get odd ideas, which seem at variance with their usual character, but the having them does not prove them insane, only crotchety. As for me, knowing Sir Harold’s wishes, I did not doubt that you would act upon them as upon his actual command. Your father told you to obey me in all things. Is that command to be as lightly set aside?”
“Have I failed to consider your wishes, madam?” asked Neva sorrowfully.
“Not until now. But it is my wish that you should marry Rufus Black. Nay it is my command.”
Neva’s pure proud face looked very white in the moonlight, as she answered:
“Then I must fail in my obedience to you now, Mrs. Black. Papa did not desire me to obey unreasonable commands, to the destruction of my own happiness. He would consider you unfaithful to the charge he gave you, could he know that you are urging me to marry Rufus Black. My rejection of Rufus was final.”
“We will see,” said Mrs. Black, compressing her lips.
In an angry mood, Octavia walked away, joining her husband on the opposite side of the deck. Neva leaned over the low railing, her face upturned to the stars, and murmured: