“And you didn’t even ask for her?”
The young man shifted in his chair.
“What’s the use! That old fool’s got a way with him. You know how it is. If he wa’n’t so d—d polite!”
“Ah! Washy, you’re skeered,” said the father, fondly. “You can’t bridle a filly if you’re afeard to go in, boy. If you don’t git up the grit I’ll go over thar myself, first thing you know. Why don’t you write her a letter?”
“What’s the good! I know’m. She wouldn’t look at me. She’s for Lord Jacquelin or Captain Steve Allen.”
“She wouldn’t!” Still rose from his chair in the intensity of his feeling. “By——she shall! I’ll make her.”
“Make her! You think she’s Virgy? She ain’t.”
A day or two later a letter from Dr. Still was brought to Birdwood by a messenger. Dr. Cary received it. It was on tinted paper and was for Blair. That afternoon another messenger bore back the same letter unopened, together with one from Dr. Cary, to the effect that his daughter was not accustomed to receive letters from young men, and that such a correspondence would not be agreeable to him.
Dr. Still was waiting with impatience for a reply to his missive. He was not especially sanguine. Even his father’s hope could not reassure him. When he looked at the letter his countenance fell. He had not expected this. It was a complete overthrow. It not only was a total destruction of his hopes respecting Miss Cary, but it appeared to expose a great gulf fixed between him and all his social hopes. He had not known till then how much he had built on them. In an instant his feeling changed. He was enraged with Blair, enraged with Dr. Cary, enraged with Jacquelin Gray and Captain Allen, and enraged with his father who had counselled him to take the step. He took the letter to his father, and threw it on the table before him.