door, and her mother's voice, admonished her that dinner was waiting. An
impulse all but caused her to say that she would rather not go down
for the meal, that she wished to be left alone. But this would be weak
peevishness. She just looked at the glass to see that her face bore no
unwonted signs, and descended to take her place as usual.

Throughout the dinner there passed no word of conversation. Yule was at
his blackest; he gobbled a few mouthfuls, then occupied himself with the
evening paper. On rising, he said to Marian:

'Have you copied the whole of that?'

The tone would have been uncivil if addressed to an impertinent servant.

'Not much more than half,' was the cold reply.

'Can you finish it to-night?'

'I'm afraid not. I am going out.'

'Then I must do it myself'

And he went to the study.

Mrs Yule was in an anguish of nervousness.

'What is it, dear?' she asked of Marian, in a pleading whisper. 'Oh,
don't quarrel with your father! Don't!'

'I can't be a slave, mother, and I can't be treated unjustly.'

'What is it? Let me go and speak to him.'

'It's no use. We CAN'T live in terror.'

For Mrs Yule this was unimaginable disaster. She had never dreamt that
Marian, the still, gentle Marian, could be driven to revolt. And it had
come with the suddenness of a thunderclap. She wished to ask what had
taken place between father and daughter in the brief interview before
dinner; but Marian gave her no chance, quitting the room upon those last
trembling words.

The girl had resolved to visit her friends, the sisters, and tell them
that in future they must never come to see her at home. But it was no
easy thing for her to stifle her conscience, and leave her father to
toil over that copying which had need of being finished. Not her will,
but her exasperated feeling, had replied to him that she would not do
the work; already it astonished her that she had really spoken such
words. And as the throbbing of her pulses subsided, she saw more clearly
into the motives of this wretched tumult which possessed her. Her
mind was harassed with a fear lest in defending Milvain she had spoken
foolishly. Had he not himself said to her that he might be guilty of
base things, just to make his way? Perhaps it was the intolerable pain
of imagining that he had already made good his words, which robbed her
of self-control and made her meet her father's rudeness with defiance.

Impossible to carry out her purpose; she