In making this resolution,--that he would give her back her troth if she asked for it, but not without expressing to her his thoughts as he did so,--he ignored the masterfulness of his own character. There are men who exercise dominion, from the nature of their disposition, and who do so from their youth upwards, without knowing, till advanced life comes upon them, that any power of dominion belongs to them. Men are persuasive, and imperious withal, who are unconscious that they use burning words to others, whose words to them are never even warm. So it was with this man when he spoke to himself in his solitude of his purpose of resigning the titled heiress. To the arguments, the entreaties, or the threats of others he would pay no heed. The Countess might bluster about her rank, and he would heed her not at all. He cared nothing for the whole tribe of Lovels. If Lady Anna asked for release, she should be released. But not till she had heard his words. How scalding these words might be, how powerful to prevent the girl from really choosing her own fate, he did not know himself. Though he lived in the same house with her he seldom saw her,--unless when he would knock at the door of an evening, and say a few words to her mother rather than to her. Since Thomas Thwaite had left London for the last time the Countess had become almost cold to the young man. She would not have been so if she could have helped it; but she had begun to fear him, and she could not bring herself to be cordial to him either in word or manner. He perceived it at once, and became, himself, cold and constrained. Once, and once only, he met Lady Anna alone, after his father's departure, and before her interview with Lord Lovel. Then he met her on the stairs of the house while her mother was absent at the lawyer's chambers. "Are you here, Daniel, at this hour?" she asked, going back to the sitting-room, whither he followed her. "I wanted to see you, and I knew that your mother would be out. It is not often that I do a thing in secret, even though it be to see the girl that I love." "No, indeed. I do not see you often now." "Does that matter much to you, Lady Anna?" "Lady Anna!" "I have been instructed, you know, that I am to call you so." "Not by me, Daniel." "No;--not by you; not as yet. Your mother's manners are much altered to me. Is it not so?" "How can I tell? Mine are not." "It is no question of manners, sweetheart, between you and me. It has not come to that, I hope. Do you wish for any change,--as regards me?" "Oh, no." "As to my love, there can be no change in that. If it suits your mother to be disdainful to me, I can bear it. I always thought that it would come to be so some day."