‘Only ascertain that it can be done, Gerald, and then I can tell Daphne, and she will no longer fancy herself a pauper. It may influence her in her conduct to Edgar.’ ‘It may,’ answered Gerald dubiously; ‘but somehow I don’t think it will. Edgar must win the game off his own bat.’ * * * * * The sisters were alone together in Madoline’s morning-room after breakfast next day. Gerald had gone to the Abbey to look after the builders, and settle various matters with his steward. Daphne was sitting half in and half out of the balcony, idle as was natural to her, but listless and discontented-looking, which was a state of mind she did not often exhibit. There was no Edgar this morning, and she missed her faithful slave. Perhaps he meant never to come to South Hill any more; in which case it would be difficult for her to get rid of her life. ‘Daphne,’ began Madoline gravely, ‘I have heard something which has made me very unhappy; which has altogether surprised and disappointed me. I am told that Edgar proposed to you last night, and that you refused him.’ ‘Did he send you the news in a telegram?’ asked Daphne, flaming red. ‘I don’t see how else you could have heard it.’ ‘No matter how I heard it, dear. It is the truth, I suppose.’ ‘Yes; it is the truth. But I despise him for telling you,’ answered Daphne angrily. ‘It was not he who told me. It was Gerald, who by accident overheard the end of your conversation with Edgar, and who——’ ‘What! he has been interfering, has he?’ cried Daphne, looking still more angry. ‘It is supremely impertinent of him to busy himself about my affairs.’ ‘Daphne! Is that the way you speak of my future husband—your future brother?’ ‘He has no right to dictate whom I am to accept or reject. What can it matter to him?’ ‘He does not presume to dictate: but it does matter a great deal to him that my sister should choose the path in life which is most likely to lead to happiness.’ ‘How can he tell which path will lead me to happiness? Does he suppose that I am going to have a husband chosen for me—as if I were a wretched French girl educated in a convent?’ ‘He thought—just as I thought—that you could hardly help liking such a thoroughly good fellow as Edgar; a man so devoted to you; so unselfish; such a good son.’ ‘What have I to do with his virtues? I don’t care a straw for him, except as a friendly sort of creature who will do anything I ask him, and who is very nice to play tennis or billiards with. He ought not to be offended at my refusing him. It would have been all the same had he been anyone else. I shall never marry.’ ‘But why not, Daphne?’ ‘Oh, for no particular reason: except perhaps that I am too fond of my own way, and shouldn’t like a master.’