Weary of his threats and importunities, she said, despairingly:
“If I grant him the wished-for interview it will only be to refuse his suit in the most positive terms.”
“Very well, my dear; only let him see you, and you may change your mind,” grimly.
“I am ready to go now,” continued Violet, summoning all her courage for the dreaded interview.
“Well, but my girl, you’ll change your gown first, won’t you? That plain white gown isn’t nice enough. Ring for Phebe, and let her dress you in your pretty blue silk with the lace rufflings—do, Violet,” coaxed the old man, who was a connoisseur in the matter of ladies’ dress.
“I shall go as I am, grandpapa, or not at all,” declared Violet, perversely, and he had to yield.
“But your eyes show traces of tears, Violet. Hadn’t you better bathe them in a little cold water?”
“No. I want him to see that I have been crying. Perhaps he will understand, then, how I loathe and hate him!” she burst out, bitterly.
“Come, then, you cross-grained little minx!” he growled, and, taking her arm, led her down stairs to the drawing-room, where the unwelcome suitor was waiting, impatiently, for her appearance.
Judge Camden almost dragged the shrinking and reluctant girl forward to the center of the room.