hear you speak in this manner,' said her
father.

'I know I have been much to blame,' said Theodora, still with her head
bent down and half turned away. 'Ever since I was a child, I have been
undutiful and rebellious. Being with Violet has gradually brought me to
a sense of it. I do wish to make a fresh beginning, and to ask you to
forgive and bear with me.'

'My dear child!' And Lord Martindale stepped to her side, took her hand,
and kissed her.

No more was needed to bring the drops that had long been swelling in
her eyes; she laid her head on his shoulder, and felt how much she had
hitherto lost by the perverseness that had made her choose to believe
her father cold and unjust.

There was another trial for the day. The departure of Lord St. Erme and
his sister revealed the state of affairs to the rest of the world; Mrs.
Delaval came to make Lady Martindale a parting visit, and to lament over
their disappointment, telling how well Lord St. Erme bore it, and how
she had unwillingly consented to his taking his sister with him to
comfort him at that dull old place, Wrangerton.

Lady Martindale, as usual, took it very quietly. She never put herself
into collision with her daughter, and did not seem to care about her
freaks otherwise than as they affected her aunt. Mrs. Nesbit, who had
thought herself on the point of the accomplishment of her favourite
designs, was beyond measure vexed and incensed. She would not be
satisfied without seeing Theodora, reproaching her, and insisting on
hearing the grounds of her unreasonable conduct.

Theodora was silent.

Was it as her mother reported, but as Mrs. Nesbit would not believe,
that she had so little spirit as to be still pining after that
domineering, presuming man, who had thrown her off after she had
condescended to accept him?

'I glory in saying it is for his sake,' replied Theodora.

Mrs. Nesbit wearied herself with invectives against the Fotheringhams
as the bane of the family, and assured Theodora that it was time to lay
aside folly; her rank and beauty would not avail, and she would never be
married.

'I do not mean to marry,' said Theodora.

'Then remember this. You may think it very well to be Miss Martindale,
with everything you can desire; but how shall you like it when your
father dies, and you have to turn out and live on your own paltry five
thousand pounds! for not a farthing of mine shall come to you unless I
see you married as I desire.'

'I c