Sir George thrust at my side with his thumb and continued:--

"Don't deny it, Malcolm. Damme, you are as shy as a boy in this matter.
But perhaps you know better than I how to go at her. I was thinking only
the other day that your course was probably the right one. Doll, I
suspect, has a dash of her old father's temper, and she may prove a little
troublesome unless we let her think she is having her own way. Oh, there
is nothing like knowing how to handle them, Malcolm. Just let them think
they are having their own way and--and save trouble. Doll may have more of
her father in her than I suspect, and perhaps it is well for us to move
slowly. You will be able to judge, but you must not move too slowly. If in
the end she should prove stubborn, we will break her will or break her
neck. I would rather have a daughter in Bakewell churchyard than a wilful,
stubborn, disobedient huzzy in Haddon Hall."

[Illustration]

Sir George had been drinking, and my slip concerning the gift passed
unnoticed by him.

"I am sure you well know how to proceed in this matter, but don't be too
cautious, Malcolm; the best woman living loves to be stormed."

"Trust me," I answered, "I shall speak--" and my words unconsciously sank
away to thought, as thought often, and inconveniently at times, grows into
words.

"Dorothy, Dorothy," said the thoughts again and again, "where came you by
the golden heart?" and "where learned you so villanously to lie?"