I have never admired and pitied her as at that moment.

"He said to the footman," I answered, resolved to go through with it now,
"'Give the man a shilling.' That was his Grace's suggestion."

My Lord uttered something very near an oath. And she spoke not a word
more until I handed her out in Arlington Street. The rest of us were
silent, too, Comyn now and again giving me eloquent glances expressive of
what he would say if she were not present; the captain watching her with
a furtive praise, and he vowed to me afterward she was never so beautiful
as when angry, that he loved her as an avenging Diana. But I was uneasy,
and when I stood alone with her before the house I begged her not to
speak to her father of the episode.

"Nay, he must be cleared of such an imputation, Richard," she answered
proudly. "He may have made mistakes, but I feel sure he would never turn
you away when you came to him in trouble--you, the grandson of his old
friend, Lionel Carvel."

"Why bother over matters that are past and gone? I would have borne an
hundred such trials to have you come to me as you came to-day, Dorothy.
And I shall surely see you again," I said, trying to speak lightly; "and
your mother, to whom you will present my respects, before I sail for
America."

She looked up at me, startled.

"Before you sail for America!" she exclaimed, in a tone that made me
thrill at once with joy and sadness. "And are you not, then, to see
London now you are here?"