I didn't tell father because
I knew he would not let me, but I wrote and told her just how it was,
and asked her to let bygones be bygones. I was hoping so much she would
come, and if she came she would have lent him the money. She has so much
it would mean nothing to her. Then I was disappointed in London. I
thought Mr. Meredith would have been there--he is rich too--and my
cousin, but he is not over at all: just his wife and daughter, and they
are rushing through London. They were so busy we had scarcely time to
speak. I half wonder they remembered my existence."
"Oh, mother!" protested Dorothy; and then with great effort: "You could
go over to-morrow to Miss Addiscombe, or write, mother; she would
understand."
"No, dear. It is no use thinking of it. To offend her once is to offend
her always. Besides, I am tired out, and there are only two more days. I
have told you because I didn't want it to all come quite suddenly, and
you are so wrapt up in yourself, Dollie, you don't notice the way Dick
does. If you had told me he had _passed_, Dorothy, when I came in, I
should not have felt quite so bad."
"But I didn't know, mother," said Dorothy. "Dick didn't tell me. _Has_
he passed?"
"Whose fault was it, Dollie? He came home to dinner and found you all
alone. Did you _ask_ him how he had got on?"
Dorothy hung her head. Mrs. Graham kissed her. "Well, go to bed and pray
for dear father," she said.
Pages:
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364