In the meantime, there was an uncomfortable scene in progress between Dorothy and her aunt.  Brooke Burgess, as desired, had left the house before eleven, having taken upon himself, when consulted, to say in the mildest terms, that he thought that, in general, young women should not be asked to marry if they did not like to, which opinion had been so galling to Miss Stanbury that she had declared that he had so scolded her, that she did not know whether she was standing on her head or her heels.  As soon as Mr Gibson left her, she sat herself down, and fairly cried.  She had ardently desired this thing, and had allowed herself to think of her desire as of one that would certainly be accomplished.  Dorothy would have been so happy as the wife of a clergyman!  Miss Stanbury’s standard for men and women was not high.  She did not expect others to be as self sacrificing, as charitable, and as good as herself.  It was not that she gave to herself credit for such virtues; but she thought of herself as one who, from the peculiar circumstances of life, was bound to do much for others.  There was no end to her doing good for others if only the others would allow themselves to be governed by her.  She did not think that Mr Gibson was a great divine; but she perceived that he was a clergyman, living decently—­of that secret pipe Miss Stanbury knew nothing—­doing his duty punctually, and, as she thought, very much in want of a wife.  Then there was her niece, Dolly soft, pretty, feminine, without a shilling, and much in want of some one to comfort and take care of her.  What could be better than such a marriage!  And the overthrow to the girls with the big chignons would be so complete!  She had set her mind upon it, and now Dorothy said that it couldn’t, and it wouldn’t, and it shouldn’t be accomplished!  She was to be thrown over by this chit of a girl, as she had been thrown over by the girl’s brother!  And, when she complained, the girl simply offered to go away!

At about twelve Dorothy came creeping down into the room in which her aunt was sitting, and pretended to occupy herself on some piece of work.  For a considerable time, for three minutes perhaps, Miss Stanbury did not speak.  She resolved that she would not speak to her niece again at least, not for that day.  She would let the ungrateful girl know how miserable she had been made.  But at the close of the three minutes her patience was exhausted.  ‘What are you doing there?’ she said.

‘I am quilting your cap, Aunt Stanbury.’

’Put it down.  You shan’t do anything for me.  I won’t have you touch my things any more.  I don’t like pretended service.’

‘It is not pretended, Aunt Stanbury.’

’I say it is pretended.  Why did you pretend to me that you would have him when you had made up your mind against it all the time?’

‘But I hadn’t made up my mind.’

’If you had so much doubt about it, you might have done what I wanted you.’