“Yes, Mr. Plowden,” went on Dorothy, “you are right: it would be wicked, but not so wicked as to marry you. God gave us women our lives, but He put a spirit in our hearts which tells us that we should rather throw them away than suffer ourselves to be degraded. Oh, Eva, tell me that you will not do this shameful thing. No, do not whisper to her, Florence.” “Dorothy, Dorothy,” said Eva, rising and wringing her hands, “it is all useless. Do not break my heart with your cruel words. I must marry him. I have fallen into the power of people who do not know what mercy is.” “Thank you,” said Florence. Mr. Plowden scowled darkly. “Then I have done;” and Dorothy walked towards the door. Before she reached it she paused and turned. “One word, and I will trouble you no more. What do you all expect will come of this wicked marriage?” There was no answer. Then Dorothy went. But her efforts did not stop there. She made her way straight to Mr. Cardus’s office. “O Reginald,” she said, “I have such dreadful news for you. There, let me cry a little first, and I will tell you.” And she did, telling him the whole story from beginning to end. It was entirely new to him, and he listened with some astonishment, and with a feeling of something like indignation against Ernest. He had intended that young gentleman to fall in love with Dorothy, and behold, he had fallen in love with Eva. Alas for the perversity of youth! “Well,” he said, when she had done, “and what do you wish me to do? It seems that you have to do with a heartless scheming woman, a clerical cad, and a beautiful fool. One might deal with the schemer and the fool, but no power on earth can soften the cad. At least, that is my experience. Besides, I think the whole thing is much better left alone. I should be very sorry to see Ernest married to a woman so worthless as this Eva must be. She is handsome, it is true, and that is about all she is, as far as I can see. Don’t distress yourself, my dear; he will get over it, and after he has had his fling out there, and lived down that duel business, he will come home, and if he is wise, I know where he will look for consolation.” Dorothy tossed her head and coloured. “It is not a question of consolation,” she said; “it is a question of Ernest’s happiness in life.” “Don’t alarm yourself, Dorothy; people’s happiness is not so easily affected. He will forget all about her in a year.”