For the first time since her strategic marriage of the child, Susan
Dornell doubted the wisdom of that step.

Her husband had, as it were, been assisted by destiny to make his
objection, originally trivial, a valid one. She saw the outlines of
trouble in the future. Why had Dornell interfered? Why had he
insisted upon producing his man? This, then, accounted for Betty's
pleading for postponement whenever the subject of her husband's
return was broached; this accounted for her attachment to Falls-
Park. Possibly this very meeting that she had witnessed had been
arranged by letter.

Perhaps the girl's thoughts would never have strayed for a moment if
her father had not filled her head with ideas of repugnance to her
early union, on the ground that she had been coerced into it before
she knew her own mind; and she might have rushed to meet her husband
with open arms on the appointed day.

Betty at length appeared in the distance in answer to the call, and
came up pale, but looking innocent of having seen a living soul.
Mrs. Dornell groaned in spirit at such duplicity in the child of her
bosom. This was the simple creature for whose development into
womanhood they had all been so tenderly waiting--a forward minx, old
enough not only to have a lover, but to conceal his existence as
adroitly as any woman of the world! Bitterly did the Squire's lady
regret that Stephen Reynard had not been allowed to come to claim
her at the time he first proposed.

The two sat beside each other almost in silence on their journey