Next morning Sir George was feeling irritable from the effects of the brandy he had drunk over night. At breakfast, in the presence of Lady Crawford, Madge, and myself, he abruptly informed Dorothy that he was about to give that young goddess to Lord James Stanley for his wife. He told her of the arrangement he had made the day before with the Earl of Derby. Lady Crawford looked toward her brother in surprise, and Madge pushed her chair a little way back from the table with a startled movement. Dorothy sprang to her feet, her eyes flashing fire and her breast rising and falling like the storm-wrought pulsing of the sea. I coughed warningly and placed my finger on my lips, making the sign of silence to Dorothy. The girl made a wondrous and beautiful struggle against her wrath, and in a moment all signs of ill-temper disappeared, and her face took on an expression of sweet meekness which did not belong there of right. She quietly sat down again, and when I looked at her, I would have sworn that Griselda in the flesh was sitting opposite me. Sir George was right. "Ways such as the girl had of late developed were dangerous." Hell was in them to an extent little dreamed of by her father. Breakfast was finished in silence. Dorothy did not come down to dinner at noon, but Sir George did not mark her absence. At supper her place was still vacant. "Where is Doll?" cried Sir George, angrily. He had been drinking heavily during the afternoon. "Where is Doll?" he demanded. "She is on the terrace," answered Madge. "She said she did not want supper." "Tell your mistress to come to supper," said Sir George, speaking to one of the servants. "You will find her on the terrace." The servant left the room, but soon returned, saying that Mistress Dorothy wanted no supper. "Tell her to come to the table whether she wants supper or not. Tell her I will put a stop to her moping about the place like a surly vixen," growled Sir George. "Don't send such a message by a servant," pleaded Lady Crawford. "Then take it to her yourself, Dorothy," exclaimed her brother. Dorothy returned with her aunt and meekly took her place at the table. "I will have none of your moping and pouting," said Sir George, as Dorothy was taking her chair. The girl made no reply, but she did not eat. "Eat your supper," her father commanded. "I tell you I will have no--" "You would not have me eat if I am not hungry, would you, father?" she asked softly. "I'd have you hungry, you perverse wench." "Then make me an appetite," returned the girl. I never heard more ominous tones fall from human lips. They betokened a mood in which one could easily do murder in cold blood, and I was surprised that Sir George did not take warning and remain silent. "I cannot make an appetite for you, fool," he replied testily. "Then you cannot make me eat," retorted Dorothy. "Ah, you would answer me, would you, you brazen, insolent huzzy," cried her father, angrily.