'You need not fear, I am no Iphigenia. I could not marry Sir Robert, and I would not marry Mr. Cathcart. Thank Heaven, I have self-respect enough to guard me from such humiliation. The worst is,' she hesitated, 'papa is so quick that he found out how his intellect fascinated me; it was the mere fascination of the moment, and died a natural death; but he will have it I was not indifferent to him, and it is this that makes him so mad. He says it is obstinacy, and nothing else.'
'Mr. Cathcart has not renewed his offer? forgive me,' as Ethel drew herself up, and looked somewhat offended. 'You know I dread that man—so sceptical—full of sophistry. Oh, my dear! I cannot help fearing him.'
'You need not,' with a sad smile; 'my heart is still in my own keeping. No,' as Mildred's glance questioned her archly, 'I have been guilty of nothing but a little hero-worship, but nevertheless,' she averred, 'intellect and goodness must go hand-in-hand before I can call any man my master.'
'I shall not despair of you finding them together; but come, I will not let you stay any longer, or your pale cheeks will excite comment. Let me wrap this cloak round you—come.'
But Ethel still lingered.
'Don't let Richard know all this; he takes my unhappiness too much to heart already; only ask him to come sometimes and break the monotony.'
'He will come.'
'Things always seem better when he is with us; he makes papa talk, and much of the restraint seems removed. Well, good-night; this is sad birthday-talk, but I could not keep the pain in.'
As Mildred softly closed the door she saw Richard beside her.
'What have you been talking about all this time?' he asked, anxiously.