“Luckily, there’s another person’s pleasure to be consulted here,” said the father, keeping his eyes fixed upon his daughter. “Another cup of tea, aunt, if you please.” “Then the sooner the better, I say,” continued her father; “for when a disagreeable thing is to be done--that is, when a thing that’s not quite agreeable to a young lady, such as marriage--” Dora took the cup of tea from her aunt’s hand, Harry not interfering--“I say,” persisted her father, “the sooner it’s done and over, the better.” Dora saw that Ormond’s eyes were fixed upon her: she suddenly tasted, and suddenly started back from her scalding tea; Harry involuntarily uttered some exclamation of pity; she turned, and seeing his eyes still fixed upon her, said, “Very rude, sir, to stare at any one so.” “I only thought you had scalded yourself.” “Then you only thought wrong.” “At any rate, there’s no great occasion to be angry with me, Dora.” “And who is angry, pray, Mr. Ormond? What put it in your head that I was doing you the honour to be angry with you?” “The cream! the cream!” cried Miss O’Faley. A sudden motion, we must not say an angry motion of Dora’s elbow, had at this moment overset the cream ewer; but Harry set it up again, before its contents poured on her new riding-habit. “Thank you,” said she, “thank you; but,” added she, changing the places of the cream ewer and cups and saucers before her, “I’d rather manage my own affairs my own way, if you’d let me, Mr. Ormond--if you’d leave me--I can take care of myself my own way.” “I beg your pardon for saving your habit from destruction, for that is the only cause of offence that I am conscious of having given. But I leave you to your own way, as I am ordered,” said he, rising from the breakfast table. “Sparring! sparring again, you two!” said Dora’s father: “but, Dora, I wonder whether you and White Connal were sparring that way when you met.” “Time enough for that, sir, after marriage,” said Dora. Our hero, who had stood leaning on the back of his chair, fearing that he had been too abrupt in what he had said, cast a lingering look at Dora, as her father spoke about White Connal, and as she replied; but there was something so unfeminine, so unamiable, so decided and bold, he thought, in the tone of her voice, as she pronounced the word _marriage_, that he then, without reluctance, and with a feeling of disgust, quitted the room, and left her “to manage her own affairs, and to take her own way.” CHAPTER XI. Our young hero, hero-like, took a solitary walk to indulge his feelings; and as he rambled, he railed to his heart’s content against Dora.