She burst into tears. “Oh, I don’t know what to do! Papa, shall I give him the money?--sign over all my income to him and take only what he’ll allow me? And would he come back if I did?” “He would not,” said I. “Then--what _shall_ I do? Oh, what slaves we women are! Think of it, papa! He wants to make a _slave_ of me--said he didn’t believe in women gadding about and showing themselves off in costly dresses and causing scandalous talk--said my place was at home--looking after the house and that sort of thing!” She laughed wildly. “Like a low, common servant! And he--he free to carry on with that woman!” “You might teach him to stay at home, if you set him a good example,” suggested I. “But I don’t want to stay at home!” cried she. “I didn’t marry for that. I want to enjoy all the privileges of my rank.” “To be sure,” said I. “I wasn’t brought up to be like a low, middle-class woman, or a workingman’s wife.” “No, indeed,” said I. “You are a lady. You’re made, not to be of use in the world, but to enjoy yourself.” She seemed to find some cause for dissatisfaction in my enthusiastic tone. “Of course,” she said, “I shall do my duty as a member of the high nobility--lead in society and open bazars and visit the poor on our estate and--and all that.” “Yes, indeed,” said I. “And the world being what it is, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t.” “Do you think you can bring him back, papa?” “That depends on you,” said I warily. “I’ll do anything--anything. I’ll crawl to him, if he wants me to. After all, he _is_ the Marquis of Crossley, and I’m only an American nobody.” “That’s the proper spirit,” said I. “But you mustn’t show it to him _too_ plainly. Be moderate. A little pretense of dignity--of self-respect.” “I understand,” said she seriously--she was indeed Edna’s own daughter. “I’ll be as I was before we were married.” Her eyes flashed. “Oh, I can bide my time. When I have a son!” “Get ready and come up to town to-night,” said I, with a most unfatherly gruffness and curtness, I fear. “I’m off now to deal with him.” “Be careful not to wound his pride, papa,” she cautioned. “I realize the danger of that,” replied I. “Come to the Savoy. Be on hand, so I can get hold of you whenever I need you.” “Oh, papa _dear_!” she cried, and cast herself into my arms. I brushed my lips upon her crown of hair--it was false hair, that being the fashion of the day. “Try to make yourself as pretty as you can,” said I, releasing her and myself. “You’ll hear from me to-night or to-morrow, unless I’ve caught my death in this damp cave. You must leave it to the frogs, and snakes, and bats, and build yourself a decent house somewhere. You’ll die here.” “I’m afraid Hugh wouldn’t consent to _live_ anywhere but here. It’s the ancestral seat, you know. The Massingfords have lived here since forever and ever.” “Have died here, you mean. Have killed wives they wanted to get rid of, here.”