'Mr. Danvers is in the library, sir,' a servant announced at nine o'clock that evening.
'Will you come down, Dorothy?'
'No, father, I do not want to hear what is said. No doubt he will suppose I took the diamonds.'
'No, no, my dear, you should not say that.'
'But I do say that, father. When even Captain Hampton was willing enough to believe me guilty, what can I expect from others?'
'You are too hard on Ned altogether, Dorothy, a great deal too hard. He spent a month of his leave entirely1 in your service, and now because he could not disbelieve the evidence of his own eyes you turn against him.'
'I am obliged to him for the trouble he has taken, father, but that is not what I want at present. I want trust; and I thought that if any one would have given it to me fully2 it would have been Ned Hampton, and nothing would have made me doubt him.'
'Well, my dear,' her father said, dryly, 'you may think so now, but if you were to see him filling his pockets out of a bank till, I fancy for a moment your trust in him would waver. However, I will go down to Danvers.'
He returned at the end of twenty minutes.
'His advice is the same as that which, as I mentioned this afternoon, Levine gave when I told him of the circumstances, and which I have no doubt he will repeat when he has further thought the matter over, namely, that unless we can obtain some evidence to support your denial, we have no chance of obtaining a verdict if we go into court. Danvers says that, of course, to those who know you, the idea of your taking these diamonds is absolutely preposterous3; still, as the jury will not know you, and the public who read the report will not know you, they can only go by the evidence. He says that trying to look at it as a stranger, his opinion would be that it was an extraordinary case, but that unless we believed thoroughly4 that you had not taken the things, we should never have taken so hopeless a case into court. Still, he thinks that the verdict of those who only look at the outside of things would be that the denial was almost worse than the act. Had it not been for the unfortunate rumours6 previously7 circulated, many people might be of opinion that it was a case of kleptomania8, and that no woman in her senses would have thus openly carried the things away from a place where she was well known.'
'I see all that, father; the more I have thought it over, the more I feel that it is certain that every one will be against me.'
'Then in that case, Dorothy, why fight a battle we are certain to lose? From the money point of view alone, it would be better to pay this twenty-five hundred pounds than the twenty-five hundred pounds plus the costs on both sides, which we might put down roughly at another thousand. If we pay it now, the matter may never become public, for even if the scoundrel was malicious10 enough to try and get a rumour5 about it into one of these so-called society papers I should doubt whether he could do so. In the last case they got the report, no doubt, from some one in Scotland Yard, but no editor would be mad enough to risk an action for libel with tremendous damages merely on an anonymous11 report, or at best, a report given only on the authority of an impecunious12 hanger-on of the turf. It seems to me, therefore, that we should have everything to lose, and nothing to gain, by bringing the matter into court.'
'But the same thing may be done again, father; if they have succeeded so well now they are sure to try and repeat it.'
'We might take measures to prevent their doing that. The moment the thing is settled we will go down into the country, and when we return to town next season I will get a companion for you—some bright, sensible woman, who will not be half her time laid up with headaches, and who will always go with you whenever you go out; so that were such an attempt made again, you would be in a position to prove conclusively13 where you were at the time. Danvers suggested that if I pay the money to Gilliat I should do so with a written protest, to the effect that I was convinced that you had not been in his shop on the day in question, but that as I was not in a position to prove this I paid the money, reserving to myself the right to reclaim14 it, should I be at any time in a position to prove that you had not been at his shop on that day, or be able to produce the woman who represented you. Should the matter by any chance ever crop up again, a copy of this protest would be an advantage.'
'At any rate, father, I could never marry Lord Halliburn unless this matter were entirely cleared up; it would be unfair to him in the extreme. He might receive an anonymous letter from these people, and if he asked me if it was true, what could I say? He has been greatly upset by the other business, what would he say did he know that I have been accused of theft? That brings us back to the subject of my engagement. You have been thinking it over since lunch, father?'
'Yes, dear, I have been thinking it over as well as I could, and I again repeat that the only light in which I can regard it is that of your happiness. I quite see that your being engaged to a man in his position does add to the embarrassment15 and difficulty of the position. We have to consider not only ourselves but him. Still, that matters after all comparatively little. Supposing this matter were all cleared up satisfactorily, how would you stand then? You might then bitterly regret the step you now want to take.'
'No, father; up to the time when this trouble first began I don't think that I thought very seriously about it. Lord Halliburn was very nice, I liked him as much as any man I have met. I suppose I was gratified by his attentions; every one spoke16 well of him; I own that I was rather proud of carrying him off, and it really seemed to me that I was likely to be very happy with him. Since then I have looked at it in a different way. I knew, of course, that husbands and wives are supposed to share each other's troubles, but it had never really seemed to me that there was a likelihood of troubles coming into my life. Well, troubles have come, and with them I have come to look at things differently. To begin with, I have learnt more of Lord Halliburn's character than I probably should have done in all my life if such troubles had not come.
'I have been disappointed in him. I do not say that in the first matter he doubted me for an instant—it was not that; but I found out that he is altogether selfish. He has thought all through, not how this affected17 me, but how it would affect himself; he has been querulous, exacting18, and impatient. Had he been the man I thought him he would have been kinder and more attentive19 than before; he would have tried to let every one see by his manner to me how wholly he trusted me; he would have striven to make things easier for me; but he has made them much harder. If I held in my hands now the proofs [missing text] against me, I would send them to him and at the same time a letter breaking off my engagement. When I think it over, I am sometimes inclined to be almost grateful to this trouble, because it has opened my eyes to the fact that I have been very nearly making a great mistake, and that, had I married Lord Halliburn, my life might have gone on smoothly20 enough, but that there would never have been any real community of feeling between us. He would have regarded me as a useful and, perhaps, an ornamental21 head to his house, but I should never have had a home in the true sense of the word, father; that is, a home like this.'
'Then that is settled, my dear. Now that you have said as much as you have, we need not say another word on the matter. I must say, frankly22, that I have of late come almost to dislike him, and it has several times cost me no inconsiderable effort to keep my temper when I saw how entirely he regarded the matter in a personal light, and how little thought he gave to the pain and trouble you were going through. I am in no hurry to lose you, my dear, and the thought that it might be a few months has given me many a heartache. And now, how will you do it?—Will you write to him or see him?'
'I would rather tell him, father.'
'You see, dear, both for his sake and your own it must be publicly known that the engagement is broken by you, and not by him. It would be very unfair on him for it to be supposed that he has taken advantage of these rumours to break off his engagement, and it would greatly injure you, as people would say that he must have become convinced of their truth.'
Dorothy nodded. 'I will see him, father. I shall speak to him quite frankly; I shall tell him that this attack having been made on me it is possible that there may be at some future time other troubles from the same source, and that it would be unfair to him, in his position as a member of the Ministry23, for his wife to be made the target of such attacks. I shall also tell him that quite apart from this, I feel that I acted too hastily and upon insufficient24 knowledge of him in accepting him; that I am convinced that our marriage would not bring to either of us that happiness that we have a right to expect. That is all I shall say, unless he presses me to go into details, and then I shall speak just as frankly as I have done to you.'
'Well, dear, I can only say I am heartily25 glad,' Mr. Hawtrey said, kissing her, 'and am inclined to feel almost grateful to that fellow Truscott for giving me back my little girl again. Of course, I know it must come some day, but after having been so much to each other for so many years, it is a little trying at first to feel that one is no longer first in your affections.'
'The idea of such a thing, father,' Dorothy said, indignantly, 'as if I ever for a moment put him before you.'
'Well, if you have not, child, it shows very conclusively that you did not care for him as a girl should care for a man she is going to marry. I do not say that it is so in many marriages that are, as they term it, arranged in society, but where there is the real, honest love that there ought to be, and such as I hope you will some day feel for some one, he becomes, as he should become, first in everything.'
'It seems to me quite impossible, father, that I could love any other man as I do you.'
Mr. Hawtrey smiled.
'I hope you will learn it is very possible, some day, Dorothy. Well, at any rate, this has done away with your chief reason for objecting to my paying for these diamonds. No doubt I shall hear from Levine some time to-morrow; at any rate, there is no reason to decide finally for another day or two. Gilliat can be in no hurry, and a month's delay may make some difference in the situation.'
'Well, dear, is it over?' Mr. Hawtrey asked next day, when Dorothy came into his study. 'It was a relief to me when I saw his brougham drive off, for I knew that you must be having an unpleasant time of it.'
'Yes; it has not been pleasant, father. He came in looking anxious, as he generally has done of late, thinking that my request for him to call this morning meant that there was news of some sort, pleasant or otherwise. I told him at once that I had been seriously thinking over the matter for some time, and that I had for several reasons come to the conclusion that it would be better that our engagement should terminate, and then gave him my first reason. He was very earnest, and protested that as he had never for a moment believed in these rumours he could not see that there was any reason whatever for breaking off the engagement. I said that I did him full justice in that respect, but that the matter had certainly been a great source of annoyance26 to him, and that I was convinced of the probability of further trouble of the same kind, and that as we had been powerless to detect the author of this we might be as powerless in the future. Then I frankly told him that I knew that his hopes were greatly centred in his political career, and that for him to have a wife who was the subject of a scandal would be a very serious drawback to him. He did not attempt to deny this, but then urged that a breach27 of the engagement at present would be taken to mean that he had been affected by the rumours. I said that full justice should be done to him in that respect; then, as he still protested—though I am convinced that at heart he felt relieved—I added that there were certain other reasons into which I need not go fully; that I thought that I had accepted him without sufficient consideration, and that I had gradually come to feel that we were not altogether suited to each other, and that a wife would always occupy but a secondary position in his thoughts, politics and public business occupying the first. I said that I had been brought up perhaps in an old-fashioned way and entertained the old-fashioned idea that a wife should hold the first place.
'He was disposed to be angry, because, no doubt, he felt that it was perfectly28 true. However I said, "Do not be angry, Lord Halliburn. I shall be very, very sorry if we part other than good friends. I like and esteem29 you very much, and had it not been for these troubles I should never have thought of breaking my engagement to you. As it is, I am thinking as much of you as of myself. I am convinced I shall have further troubles, and perhaps more serious ones. I have already, in fact, had some sort of warning of them, and if they come it would make it much harder for me to bear them were our names associated together, for I feel that your prospects30 would be seriously injured as well as my own."
'I said that I had been thinking it over calmly for a month and more, and that I was sure that it was best for both of us. So at last we parted good friends. I have no doubt it is a relief to him as it is to me, but just at first, I suppose, it was natural that he should be upset. I don't think he had ever thought for a moment of breaking it off himself, but I am quite sure that if this other thing comes out he will congratulate himself most heartily. Well, there is an end of that, father.'
'Yes, my dear; I am sorry, and at the same time I am glad. I don't think, dear, that you are the sort of girl who would ever have been very happy if you had married without any very real love in the matter. For my part I can see nothing enviable in the life of a woman who spends her whole life in what is called Society. Two or three months of gaiety in the year may be well enough, but to live always in it seems to me one of the most wretched ways of spending one's existence. And now, dear, let us change the subject altogether. I think for the next few days you had better go out again. I propose that we leave town at the end of the week and either go down home or, what would be better, go for a couple of months on the continent. That will give time for the gossip over the engagement being broken off to die out. You did not put off our engagement to dine at the Deans' to-day?'
'No, father, I could not write and say two days beforehand that I was unwell and unable to come.'
'Very well then, we will go. I always like their dinners, because she comes from our neighbourhood and one always meets three or four of our Lincolnshire friends.'
'It is the Botanical this afternoon, father. Shall I go there with Cousin Mary?'
'Do so by all means, dear.'
As they drove that evening to the Deans', Mr. Hawtrey said, 'I had that letter from Levine as I was dressing32, Dorothy. He goes over nearly the same ground as Danvers did, and is also of opinion that I should pay under protest, in order that if at any time we can lay our hands on the real offender33, we can claim the return of the money. I shall go round in the morning and have a talk with Gilliat.'
Dorothy was more herself than she had been for weeks. Her engagement had, since her trouble first began, been a greater burden to her than she had been willing to admit even to herself. Lord Halliburn had jarred upon her constantly, and she had come almost to dread34 their daily meetings.
At an early stage of her troubles she had thought the matter out, and had come to the conclusion that she had made a mistake, and was not long in arriving at the determination that she would at the end of the season ask him to release her from her engagement. Before that she hoped that the rumours that had affected him would have died out completely, and would not necessarily be associated with the termination of the engagement. Had not this fresh trouble arisen, matters would have gone on on their old footing until late in the autumn, but this new trouble had forced her to act at once, and her first thought had been that it was only fair to him to release him at once. She was surprised now at the weight that had been lifted from her mind, at the buoyancy of spirits which she felt. She was almost indifferent as to the other matter.
'You are more like yourself than you have been for weeks, Dorothy,' her father said, during the drive.
'I feel like a bird that has got out of a cage, father. It was not a bad cage, it was very nicely gilt35 and in all ways a desirable one, still it was a cage, and I feel very happy indeed in feeling that I am out of it.'
Dorothy enjoyed her dinner and laughed and talked merrily with the gentleman who had taken her down. Mrs. Dean remarked to her husband afterwards that the absence of Lord Halliburn, who sent a letter of regret that important business would prevent his fulfilling his engagement, did not seem to be any great disappointment to Dorothy Hawtrey.
'I never saw her in better spirits, my dear; lately I have been feeling quite anxious about her; she was beginning to look quite worn from the trouble of those abominable36 stories.'
'I expect she feels Halliburn's absence a positive relief,' he said. 'You know you remarked, yourself, the last time we saw them out, how glum37 and sulky he looked, and you said that if you were in her place you would throw him over without hesitation38.'
'I know I said so, and do you know I wondered at dinner whether she had not come to the same conclusion.'
'Dorothy has lots of spirit,' Mr. Dean said, 'and is quite capable of kicking over the traces. I should say there is no pluckier rider than that girl in all Lincolnshire, and I fancy that a woman who doesn't flinch39 from the stiffest jump would not hesitate for a moment in throwing over even the best match of the season if he offended her. She is a dear good girl, is Dorothy Hawtrey, and I don't think that she is a bit spoilt by her success this season. I always thought she made a mistake in accepting Halliburn; he is not half good enough for her. He may be an earl, and an Under-Secretary of State, but he is no more fit to run in harness with Dorothy Hawtrey than he is to fly.'
When the gentlemen came up after dinner Dorothy made room on the sofa on which she was sitting for an old friend who walked across to her. Mr. Singleton was a near neighbour down in Lincolnshire; he was a bachelor, and Dorothy had always been a great pet of his.
'Well, my dear,' he said, as he took a seat beside her, 'I am heartily glad to see you looking quite yourself again to-night, and to know that I have been able to help my little favourite out of a scrape.'
Dorothy's eyes opened wide. 'To help me out of a scrape, Mr. Singleton! Why, what scrape have you helped me out of?'
'I beg your pardon, my dear,' he said hastily. 'I told you we would never speak of the matter again, and here I am, like an old fool, bringing it up the very first time I meet you.'
Dorothy's face paled.
'Mr. Singleton,' she said, 'I seem to be surrounded by mysteries. Do I understand you to say that you have done me some kindness lately—helped me out of some scrape?'
'Well, my dear, those were your own words,' he replied, looking surprised in turn; 'but please do not let us say anything more about it.'
Dorothy sat quiet for a minute, then she made a sign to her father, who was standing40 at the other side of the room, to come across to her. 'Father,' she said, 'will you ask Mr. Singleton to drive home with us; I am afraid there is some fresh trouble, and, at any rate, I must speak to him, and this is not the place for questions. Please let us go as soon as the carriage comes. Now, will you please go away, Mr. Singleton, and leave me to myself for a minute or two, for my head is in a whirl?'
'But, my dear,' he began, but was stopped by an impatient wave of Dorothy's hand.
'What is it, Singleton?' Mr. Hawtrey asked, as they went across the room.
'I am completely puzzled,' he replied; 'what Dorothy means by asking me to come with you, and to answer questions, is a complete mystery to me. Please don't ask me any questions now. I have evidently put my foot into it somehow, though I have not the least idea how.'
Ten minutes later the carriage was announced. As she took her place in it, Dorothy said, 'Don't ask any questions until we are at home.'
The two men were far too puzzled to talk on any indifferent subject. Not a word was spoken until they arrived at Chester Square.
'Has Mrs. Daintree gone to bed?' Dorothy asked the footman.
'Yes, Miss Hawtrey; she went a quarter of an hour ago.'
'Are the lights still burning in the drawing-room?'
'Yes, miss.'
They went upstairs.
'Now, Dorothy, what does all this mean?' her father asked, impatiently.
'That is what we have got to learn, father. Mr. Singleton congratulated me on having recovered my spirits, and took some credit to himself for having helped me out of a scrape. As I do not in the least know what he means, I want him to give you and me the particulars.'
'But, my dear Dorothy,' Mr. Singleton said, 'why on earth do you ask me that question? Surely you cannot wish me to mention anything about that trifling41 affair.'
'But I do, Mr. Singleton. You do not know the position in which I am placed at present. I am surrounded by mysteries, I am accused of things I never did. Now it seems as if there were a fresh one; possibly if you tell us the exact particulars of what you were speaking of it may help us to get to the bottom of it.'
'I don't understand it in the least,' Mr. Singleton said, gravely. 'You are quite sure, Dorothy, that you wish me to repeat before your father the exact details of our interview?'
'If you please, Mr. Singleton; every little minute particular.'
'Of course I will do as you wish, my dear,' the old gentleman said, kindly42, 'it seems to me madness, but if you really wish it I will do so. If I make any mistake correct me at once. Well, this is the story, Hawtrey. I need not tell you it would never have passed my lips, except at Dorothy's request. A short time since, a fortnight or three weeks, I cannot tell you the day exactly, my servant brought me up word that a lady wished to see me. She had given no name, but I supposed it was one of these charity collecting women, so I told her to show her in. To my surprise it was Miss Dorothy. After shaking hands she sat down, and to my astonishment43 burst into tears. It was some time before I could pacify44 her, and get her to tell me what was the matter; then she told me that she had got into a dreadful scrape, that she dared not tell you, that it would be ruin to her, and that she had come to me as one of her oldest friends, to ask me if I could help her to get out of it.
'Of course, I said I would do anything, and at last, with great difficulty, and after another burst of crying, she told me that she must have a thousand pounds to save her. She said something about wanting to pawn45 some of her jewels, but this would not come to enough. Of course, I pooh-poohed this, and said that I was very sorry to hear that she had got into a scrape, but that a thousand pounds were a trifle to me in comparison to the happiness of the daughter of an old friend. She was very reluctant to receive it, and wanted, at least, to pawn her jewels for two or three hundred pounds, but I said that that was nonsense, and eventually I drew a cheque for a thousand pounds, which I made payable46 to Mary Brown or bearer, as I, naturally, did not wish her name to appear at all in the matter.
'She was most grateful for it. I told her that, of course, I should never allude47 to the matter again, and that she was not to trouble about it in the slightest, for that I had put her down for five thousand pounds in my will and would change the figure to four, so that she would only be getting the money a little earlier than I had intended. This evening, unfortunately, I was stupid enough, in saying that I was pleased to see her looking more like her old self, to add that I was glad to know that I had been the means of helping48 my little favourite out of a scrape. It was stupid of me, I admit, to have even thus far broken my promise never to allude to the thing again, but why she should have insisted upon my telling a story—painful to both of us—to you, is altogether beyond my comprehension.'
Mr. Hawtrey was too much astonished to ask any questions, but looked helplessly at Dorothy, who said quietly—
'Thank you for telling the story, Mr. Singleton, and thank you still more for so generously coming, as you believed, to my assistance. You cannot remember exactly which day it was?'
'No, my dear, but I could see the date on the counterfoil49 of my cheque-book.'
'Was it the fifteenth of last month, Mr. Singleton?'
'Fifteenth? Well, I cannot say exactly, but it would be somewhere about that time.'
'And about what time of day?'
'Some time in the afternoon, I know; somewhere between three and four, I should say. I know I had not been back long after lunching at the Travellers'. I generally leave there about three, and it is not more than five minutes' walk up to the Albany.'
'Now, father, please tell Mr. Singleton about Gilliat's.'
'But, Dorothy,' Mr. Singleton exclaimed, when he heard the story, 'it is absolutely impossible that you could have done such a thing.'
'It seems to me impossible, Mr. Singleton, but here is the evidence of two people that I did do it; and now I have your evidence that on the same afternoon I came to you and obtained a thousand pounds from you. Either those two men were dreaming or out of their minds, and you were dreaming or out of your mind, or I am out of my mind and do things unconsciously. My own belief is that I can account for my whole afternoon,' and she repeated the details that she had given her father as to her movements. 'But even if I could have done these things without knowing it, where are the jewels and where is the cheque?'
'The cheque was presented next day and paid. It came back with my bank book at the end of the month.'
'It is not often I go out in the morning,' Dorothy said, 'and I should think I could prove that I did not do so on the morning of the 16th; but I cannot be sure if, in a state of somnambulism or in a sort of trance, I did not call at the jewellers and on you. I might, had I gone out, have changed that cheque in a similar state. That would have been a straightforward50 thing, but how could I get rid of the jewels? If I had them now and wanted to raise money on them I should not have the least idea how to do so, and I could hardly have carried out such a scheme in a state of unconsciousness. The jewellers say I was dressed in a blue dress with red spots, and I went out in a gown of that pattern on that day.'
'I did not notice the dress particularly,' Mr. Singleton said, 'but it was certainly a blue of some sort. Of course it is quite out of the question that you could have done all these things unconsciously; but what does it all mean? I am absolutely bewildered.'
'We have only one theory to account for it, Singleton. We believe, in fact we are positively51 convinced, that there is somewhere a girl so exactly resembling Dorothy that even those who know her well, like yourself, might take one for the other, and that she and perhaps an accomplice52 are taking advantage of this likeness53 to personate Dorothy. They have even gone the length of having a dress made exactly like hers. I will now tell you the real history of that affair that got into the papers. You will see that the party we believe to be at the bottom of it would know, or would have means of finding out, that Gilliat was our family jeweller, and that you were an intimate friend. Our theory is that revenge as well as plunder54 was the motive55, and that the first part of the affair was simply an endeavour to injure Dorothy, and to suggest a motive for her need of money just at this time.'
'It is an extraordinary story,' Mr. Singleton said, when he heard it all. 'I cannot doubt that it is as you suggest. That my little Dorothy should behave in this way is too ridiculous to be believed for a moment; though I own that I should have been ready, if obliged, to swear in court that it was she who came to me.'
'Did she wear a veil?' Dorothy asked, suddenly. 'I forgot to ask Mr. Gilliat that.'
'Yes, she had a veil on and kept it down all the time. It was a warm day and I rather wondered afterwards at your wearing it, for I do not think I ever saw you in a veil. But I supposed that you did not want to be seen coming up to me, and that perhaps you felt that you could tell your story more easily behind it.'
'Was it a thick veil?'
'No, it seemed to me the usual sort of thing ladies wear.'
'Did you notice anything particular about the voice?'
Mr. Singleton thought for a minute. 'I did not notice anything at the time. Of course it differed from your ordinary voice as I am accustomed to hear it. You see she was crying, with a handkerchief up to her face, and spoke low and hesitatingly. All of which changes the voice. I never doubted it was you, you see, and as I had never heard you speak in low, broken tones, sobbing56 and crying, any difference there may have been did not strike me.'
'But altogether, Mr. Singleton, even now that I declare that I was not the person who called upon you, you can, thinking it over, see nothing that would lead you to doubt that it was myself.'
Mr. Singleton shook his head. 'No, Dorothy, I am sorry to say that I cannot. Your word is quite sufficient for me, and I feel as certain that this woman was an impostor as if she herself came forward to own it. The likeness, however, in figure and in face was extraordinary, although I admit that the veil made an alteration57 in the face. It always does. I frequently pass ladies I know well, and if they have thick veils down do not recognise them until they bow and smile. There was just that difference between the face and yours as I usually see it. I can remember now that as you, or rather this woman came into the room, I did not for the first instant recognise her owing to the veil; it was but momentarily, just the same hesitation I have so often felt before, neither more nor less.'
'However, it was possible, Mr. Singleton, that the resemblance may not have been absolutely perfect, and that had she not had a veil on you would have seen it at once.'
'And now, Singleton, as an old friend, tell me what is to be done. To-day we had all but settled that I should pay the value of those diamonds to Gilliat. Dorothy has been anxious that I should fight the case, but Levine, into whose hands I put myself, and Danvers, who would have been one of our counsel, were both so strongly of opinion that we had no chance whatever of getting a verdict, and that it would greatly damage Dorothy, that I persuaded her to let me pay. But, you see, this affair of yours changes the position of affairs altogether. As she has victimised you, so she may victimise others of my friends, as well as other tradesmen, and it seems to me that the only way to put a stop to that will be publicity59.'
'I think, Hawtrey, that the first person to be consulted in the matter is Lord Halliburn. You see this game may go on again in the future on even a larger scale, for the Countess of Halliburn's orders would be fulfilled without a moment's hesitation by any tradesman in London.'
'There is no need to consult him, Singleton; Dorothy broke off the engagement with him this morning. You need not commiserate60 her,' he went on, as Mr. Singleton was about to express his deep regret. 'I may tell you, as an old friend, that there were perhaps other reasons besides these troubles, and that, for myself, I am heartily glad that the engagement is at an end.'
'Well, if that is the case, I may say I am glad too, Hawtrey. Of course, the match was a good one, but I never altogether fancied it, and had always felt some disappointment that my little favourite should be, as I thought, making a match for position instead of for love. So it was that, young lady, and not, as I was fool enough to fancy, getting out of a money scrape, that made you so bright and like yourself at dinner this evening?'
Dorothy smiled faintly.
'It was getting out of a scrape, you see, Mr. Singleton, although not the one you thought of. I think you are a little hard on me. I certainly should not have accepted Lord Halliburn unless at the time I had thought I liked him very much; but I think that during the trouble I had I came to see that something more than liking61 is necessary, and that a man who may be a very pleasant member of society would not necessarily make so pleasant a partner in life.'
'Well, now as to your advice, Singleton.'
'I can give none, Hawtrey. The matter is too important and too much out of my line for my opinion to be worth a fig9; but I will tell you what I will do. It is clear that you must see Levine and tell him about this affair; if you write and make an appointment with him to-morrow, say at twelve o'clock, I will call here at half-past eleven and go with you. If you will take my advice you will take Dorothy with you. Levine is pretty well accustomed to read faces, and I think he will be more likely to take our view of the matter when he has once seen her. You may as well sit down and write a note at once; I will post it as I drive back. I think, too, I would write to Danvers and ask him to be there; he is a clever young fellow, and his opinion may help us. While you are writing I will get Dorothy to tell your footman to whistle for a hansom for me.'
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME
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1
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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kleptomania
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| n.盗窃癖 | |
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fig
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| n.无花果(树) | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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impecunious
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| adj.不名一文的，贫穷的 | |
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conclusively
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| adv.令人信服地，确凿地 | |
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reclaim
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| v.要求归还，收回；开垦 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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16
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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32
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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offender
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| n.冒犯者，违反者，犯罪者 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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glum
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| adj.闷闷不乐的，阴郁的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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flinch
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| v.畏缩，退缩 | |
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40
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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42
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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43
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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44
pacify
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| vt.使(某人)平静(或息怒)；抚慰 | |
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45
pawn
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| n.典当，抵押，小人物，走卒；v.典当，抵押 | |
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46
payable
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| adj.可付的，应付的，有利益的 | |
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allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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48
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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49
counterfoil
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| n.(支票、邮局汇款单、收据等的)存根，票根 | |
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50
straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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51
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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52
accomplice
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| n.从犯，帮凶，同谋 | |
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53
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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54
plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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55
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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56
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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57
alteration
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| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
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58
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59
publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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60
commiserate
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| v.怜悯，同情 | |
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61
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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