'Papa, do you know what you are saying?' expostulated Ethel; the audacity of the statement bewildered her; she would have scorned herself for her credulity if she had believed him. Dr. Heriot—their Dr. Heriot! No, she would not so malign his wisdom.
The quiet scepticism of her manner excited Mr. Trelawny's wrath.
'You women all set such store by Heriot,' he returned, sneeringly; 'everything he did was right in your eyes; you can't believe he would be caught like other men by a pretty face, eh?'
'No, I cannot believe it,' she returned, still firmly.
'Then you may go into the town and hear it for yourself,' he continued, taking up his paper with a pretence of indifference, but his keen eyes still watched her from beneath it. Was it only her usual obstinacy, or was she really incredulous of his tidings? 'I had it from Davidson, who had congratulated the Doctor himself that morning,' he continued, sullenly; 'he said he never saw him look better in his life; the girl was with him.'
'But not Polly—you cannot mean Polly Ellison?' and now Ethel turned strangely white. 'Papa, there must be some mistake about it all. I—I will go and see Mildred.'
'You may spare yourself that trouble,' returned Mr. Trelawny, gloomily.
Ethel's changing colour, her evident pain, were not lost upon him. 'There may be a chance for Cathcart still,' was his next thought; 'women's hearts as well as men are often caught at the rebound; she'll have him out of pique—who knows?' and softened by this latter reflection he threw down his paper, and continued almost graciously—
'Yes, you may spare yourself that trouble, for I met Miss Lambert myself this afternoon.'
'And you spoke to her?' demanded Ethel, with almost trembling eagerness.