“Yes,” interrupted the headstrong girl, apparently bent upon destroying both of us.  “He pretended that he did not wish to marry me.  He said he wished me to give a sham consent for the purpose of gaining time till we might hit upon some plan by which we could change your mind.  He said he had no desire nor intention to marry me.  It was but a poor, lame ruse on his part.”

During Dorothy’s recital Sir George turned his face from her to me.  When she had finished speaking, he looked at me for a moment and said:—­

“Does my daughter speak the truth?  Did you say—­”

“Yes,” I promptly replied, “I have no intention of marrying your daughter.”  Then hoping to place myself before Sir George in a better light, I continued:  “I could not accept the hand of a lady against her will.  I told you as much when we conversed on the subject.”

“What?” exclaimed Sir George, furious with anger.  “You too?  You whom I have befriended?”

“I told you, Sir George, I would not marry Dorothy without her free consent.  No gentleman of honor would accept the enforced compliance of a woman.”

“But Doll says that you told her you had no intention of marrying her even should she consent,” replied Sir George.

“I don’t know that I spoke those exact words,” I replied, “but you may consider them said.”

“You damned, ungrateful, treacherous hound!” stormed Sir George.  “You listened to me when I offered you my daughter’s hand, and you pretended to consent without at the time having any intention of doing so.”

“That, I suppose, is true, Sir George,” said I, making a masterful effort against anger.  “That is true, for I knew that Dorothy would not consent; and had I been inclined to the marriage, I repeat, I would marry no woman against her will.  No gentleman would do it.”

My remark threw Sir George into a paroxysm of rage.

“I did it, you cur, you dog, you—­you traitorous, ungrateful—­I did it.”

“Then, Sir George,” said I, interrupting him, for I was no longer able to restrain my anger, “you were a cowardly poltroon.”

“This to me in my house!” he cried, grasping a chair with which to strike me.  Dorothy came between us.

“Yes,” said I, “and as much more as you wish to hear.”  I stood my ground, and Sir George put down the chair.

“Leave my house at once,” he said in a whisper of rage.

“If you are on my premises in one hour from now I will have you flogged from my door by the butcher.”

“What have I done?” cried Dorothy.  “What have I done?”

“Your regrets come late, Mistress Vernon,” said I.

“She shall have more to regret,” said Sir George, sullenly.  “Go to your room, you brazen, disobedient huzzy, and if you leave it without my permission, by God, I will have you whipped till you bleed.  I will teach you to say ‘I won’t’ when I say ‘you shall.’  God curse my soul, if I don’t make you repent this day!”