"I answered him, of course," went on the Judge. "At first I thought of returning his letter without any remark whatever. Still, I sent him a few words which I think will have a beneficial effect on his colossal cheek!"

"What did you say?" asked the girl.

"I have a copy of it here somewhere," went on the Judge. "Would you like to see it?"

He took some papers from a drawer, and, having selected one, pa.s.sed it to her. Mary Bolitho's face crimsoned as she read. She knew what Paul would feel. There was an insult in every line, almost in every word, veiled by conventional politeness, it is true, but still a note which, to a proud man, would wound like a poisoned knife.

"I had to put a stop to that sort of thing, of course. Just because he has made a little money, and has become a Member of Parliament, he has dared to---- But I say, Mary, this leads me on to something else; and, as we have an hour alone, it is well to have an understanding. How old are you?"

"Nearly twenty-one," she answered.

"I don't want to lose you, of course, but the time must come when I shall have to do so, and--of course, you'll not be surprised to know Ned Wilson was here two or three days ago, and I fancy he considers the matter settled. Do you know that he has spoken to me more than once?"

"But I gave him no encouragement," said the girl. "I have promised him nothing."

"No; but you have not repulsed him."

"You did not wish me to meet his appeal with a blank refusal," said the girl. "You said you had special reasons for that. But I gave him no encouragement. I do not want to marry him."

"But you do not dislike him; in fact, you told me you felt very kindly towards him."

"But not in that way, not in that way!"

"Mary, I want to be absolutely frank with you," said the Judge. "I wish you to marry young Wilson."

"Is that a command?" said the girl, and her voice was as cold as ice.

Her father looked at her steadily for a few seconds. He seemed to be on the point of resenting her tones, but presently decided not to do so.

"Let us put it this way," he said quietly, "Your marriage with Wilson would help me out of many difficulties, and save me from many troubles."

"I don't understand, father."

"You've always looked upon me as a rich man," said Judge Bolitho. "I'm not. I have been unfortunate in my investments, and while I was practising at the Bar I made a good income; but we have always lived up to it. You see, I have had to entertain a good deal; and then my Parliamentary career, though short, was very expensive. I know I have been very foolish, but I kept on that London house when I ought not to have done so. A man who keeps up two establishments should be rich. I thought I could afford it at one time, as my investments promised well.

Still, everything has gone to pieces, and I have enormous liabilities.

Had I known how things would have turned out I would never have accepted the judgeship. You see, the salary is but small compared with what I could make before. Within the next few months I have to find huge sums of money; and--well, when you are Wilson's wife, it'll be easy. But, for the life of me, I do not know another man who could help me out of my troubles! There, Mary; I am sorry to have to make such a confession, but it is best for you to know."

"Then I am to be sold!" said the girl. "Sold like a bale of cotton!"

"Don't put it in that way," said the father. "It's not fair. Besides, consciously or unconsciously, you have doubtlessly encouraged Wilson.

You've repeatedly gone to the house, and you have known what gossips have said."

"I have refrained from contradicting gossip for your sake," replied Mary.

"Yes, I know. But you've always seemed pleased to see him, and as far as I can judge, always found pleasure in his society. He's a good fellow, too. I have made inquiries about him. He has a blameless record, and I am sure would make you a good husband. As for position--it is true he belongs to the manufacturing cla.s.ses, but trade is no longer regarded as it used to be. Why, how many men in Ned's position have, during the last few years, obtained peerages! Among all our circle of friends in London there is not one who could do for us what Ned can do; and--Mary, as far as a father can promise for his daughter, I promised for you. I knew you liked him, and Ned regards it as settled."

"Have you fixed the date, too, and decided where the wedding's to take place?" And there was a world of scorn in her voice.

"Come now, Mary. Don't be unreasonable!"

"Unreasonable!" cried the girl. "Surely I have my own life to live.

If I have been friendly with the Wilsons it has been at your request.

You know that, during the election, I begged of you to stay at an hotel, instead of continually accepting their hospitality. But you practically commanded it, and so I went with you. But when you promise that I shall take a man like Wilson for my husband I think it's going too far. I should loathe his presence. I should shrink from him every time he came near me."

"But, Mary," said her father, evidently determined to keep his temper, "surely this is strange. You knew his feelings towards you years ago, and you never evinced any repugnance. You liked to spend hours upon hours with him at the time of the election. You have been seen with him a great deal. And when you have known that people have coupled your name with his, you've still consented to go to Howden Clough."

"As though a girl may not think differently at twenty-one from what she thinks at nineteen!" And her voice was tremulous with anger.

"Why should you think differently?" he asked. "You've seen no one else whom you like better?"

Mary was silent.

"Perhaps you would like to marry this fellow?" And her father placed his hand upon the letter which they had been discussing.

"A thousand times rather than him!"

"Mary, Mary!"

"A thousand times rather than him!" repeated the girl. "At least, Paul Stepaside cannot be despised."

"And what is there to despise about Wilson?"

"Oh, nothing!" said the girl. "But had he been placed in Mr.

Stepaside's position years ago, what would he have been?"

"Well, think it over," said the Judge, rising. "In fact, if you care anything about me, you will do what I say. Surely you've not fallen in love with that fellow?"

"No," said the girl. "I've fallen in love with no one. But, father, can't you see, can't you understand what a girl feels? Marriage is, or ought to be, the most sacred thing in life, and to think that I am sold to such a man, because--because----"

"Oh, you'll think better of it by to-morrow," said Judge Bolitho as he left the room. "I know that young girls are silly. But remember, Mary, I am older and wiser than you, and I am thinking of your future as well as of my own." He left the room as he spoke, while Mary sat for a long time thinking deeply.

Every fibre of her being revolted against her father's proposal. She hated the thought of a marriage of convenience, and her heart hotly rebelled. All the same, she loved him greatly, and she knew that he must have been in dire straits or he would not have told her of his financial troubles. For Judge Bolitho was a proud man, and did not talk freely of such matters. Had it been simply because her father wished her to marry a rich man, she would never have given the question a second thought; but when he asked her to save him from what seemed like ruin, what could she do? She knew that a judge could not afford to get into financial difficulties, and knew that his honour must be, as far as the world is concerned, stainless. How, then, could she refuse? All the same, her whole nature rose in angry rebellion against such a thing.

Again she thought of what Paul Stepaside had said to her, and wondered whether, if she had never seen him, she would have been so angry at what her father had done. For hours that night she lay sleepless, trying to think of a plan whereby what seemed to her now as a calamity, and worse than a calamity, could be avoided.

When she came down the following morning her face was pale and almost haggard. Although she did not realise it, what Paul Stepaside had said to her had altered the whole outlook of her life. A heap of letters lay on the breakfast-table, but they were all for her father. A servant moved quietly round the room, arranging for their morning meal, while she stood listlessly looking over the garden. It was now nine o'clock, and her father always came punctually to the minute.

The clock on the mantelpiece had barely ceased striking when he came into the room. He kissed her perfunctorily, and then turned to his letters.

"Nothing important, Mary. Nothing important," he said, with an evident desire to be cheerful. "I think we're going to have a nice day, too, although we are so close to Christmas. But it's really too warm for this time of year."

For several minutes he evidently tried to make conversation, with but little success. The girl made no response to anything he said, but sat silently toying with the food that was placed before her.

The meal was nearly at an end when a servant came in bearing a telegram. The Judge took it from the salver and opened it almost indifferently, but a second later his eyes were wild with terror, and his hands trembled like an autumn leaf shaken with the wind.

"My G.o.d!" he exclaimed.

"What is it, father?"