Mary spoke as one who is moved to the very core of her being. It was not merely a painful and unpleasant incident that faced her, but something in the nature of a great and overwhelming tragedy. The girl's pride was part of her being. She accepted it naturally, as in the order of establishing things. Usually she was brave enough. She would have encountered any physical danger with coolness and courage, but the mere suggestion of this outrage frightened her. Well, she could look to her father for assistance. He had behaved with great fortitude during the recent interview with Mayfield; indeed, it might be said that he emerged from the combat victoriously. Doubtless, he could find some way out. The old blood had asserted itself before, and it could do it again. "Why are you so silent?" Mary asked. "Tell me what is to be done. A disgrace like that would be horrible--after such contamination, Dashwood would never be the same to me again. Father, you have found a way?" But Sir George made no reply. The bland and easy dignity had vanished, the suave smile with which he had greeted Mayfield was not to be seen. He had suddenly become a poor feeble wreck of a man again, and he burst into senile tears. They were real tears, for Mary could see them trickling down his face. She trembled with an alarm and anger that she had never felt before. For tears formed no part of her woman's armour; she left them to children and the fretful mothers of the poor. In all the traditions of the house, there was no mention of tears. Both men and women had met their misfortunes with hard faces and dry eyes. It had been left to Mary to be ashamed of a male Dashwood. Perhaps there was something in the bitter scorn of her face that caused Sir George furtively to remove the tell-tale drops. "I'm not myself," he whined. "I have had a deal of trouble and Mayfield is a great scoundrel. I had to have that money hurriedly--a disastrous speculation. If I had not been high up in the service of my country, it would not have mattered so much. But my creditors were pressing, and Mayfield offered to help me. Of course, he wanted what he called security. It seemed so natural when he explained to me. And all the time he wanted to get me into his power." "Oh, why go over the same ground again?" Mary cried. "Something must be done without delay. Those horrible men must not come here." "Perhaps it was only a threat on Mayfield's part," Sir George said feebly. "It was nothing of the kind and you know it, father. There was deadly malice in every word that he uttered. And before then you had got the better of him. You acted like a true Dashwood--I was proud of you. And now you sit there, and, oh, I cannot bring myself to say the hateful word. Why did you behave so nobly a little while ago, and so cowardly now? You seemed to have found a way out."