"He might as well know it. Come, father! Say you'll go."
It was hard to withstand her. The pure, gentle intonations rang upon Mr. Copley's soul almost like bells of doom, because he did withstand her. She was his saving good angel; he half knew it; he was ashamed before his child, and conscience knocked hard at the door of his heart; but the very shame he felt before her made her presence irksome to him, while yet it was, oh, so sweet! Alas, "he that doeth evil hateth the light." He was entangled in more than one sort of net, and he lacked moral power to break the meshes. The gentle fingers that were busy with the net, trying to unloose it, were a reproach and a torment to him. She must marry St. Leger; so his thoughts ran; it was the best thing that could happen to her; it was the best he could do for her. Then she would be secure, at all events.
"Dolly, why don't you like Lawrence?" he began.
"He's too handsome, father,—for one thing."
"I never heard of such a reason for a lady's dislike. That's play, Dolly."
"And he knows it; there's another thing."
"Well, of course he knows it. How can he help knowing it?"
"And he's too rich."
"Dolly, you are talking nonsense."
"And he knows that."