She sought him out, and joined his early walk.
'Help me,' she said; 'I repent, indeed I do. Teach me to begin afresh, and to be what I ought. I would do anything.'
'Anything that is not required of you, Theodora, or anything that is?'
'Whatever you or Violet required of me,' said she, 'that I would do readily and gladly, cost me what it might.'
'It is not for me to require anything,' said Mr. Martindale. 'What I advise you is to test the sincerity of your repentance by humbling yourself to ask your father's forgiveness.'
He watched her face anxiously, for his hopes of her almost might be said to depend upon this. It was one of those efforts which she made with apparent calmness. 'You and Violet ask the same thing,' she said; 'I will.'
'I am glad to hear you say this. I could not think you going on right while you denied him the full explanation of your conduct.'
'Did you mean that I should tell him all?' exclaimed Theodora.
'It would be a great relief to his mind. Few fathers would have left you such complete liberty of action, consented to your engagement, and then acted so kindly and cautiously in not forcing on you this, for which he had begun to wish ardently. You have grieved him extremely, and you owe it to him to show that this has not all been caprice.'
I have promised,' repeated Theodora.
'Your second effort,' said Mr. Martindale, encouragingly. They were nearly opposite an hotel, where a carriage was being packed. Theodora turned, he understood her, and they walked back; but before they could quit the main road, the travellers rolled past them. Lord St. Erme bowed. Theodora did not look up; but when past asked if any one was with him.
'Yes; his sister.'
'I am glad of it,' said Theodora. 'She is an excellent little thing, the very reverse of me.'
Without failure of resolution, Theodora returned to breakfast, her mind made up to the effort, which was more considerable than can be appreciated, without remembering her distaste to all that bore the semblance of authority, and the species of proud reserve that had prevented her from avowing to her father her sentiments respecting Mr. Fotheringham, even in the first days of their engagement; and she was honest enough to feel that the manner, as well as the subject of conversation, must show the sincerity of her change. She would not let herself be affronted into perverseness or sullenness, but would try to imagine Violet looking on; and with this determination she lingered in the breakfast-room after her mother and cousin had left it.
'Papa,' said she, as he was leaving the room, 'will you listen to me?'
'What now, Theodora?' said poor Lord Martindale, expecting some of those fresh perplexities that made him feel the whole family to blame.
It was not encouraging, but she had made up her mind. 'I have behaved very ill about all this, papa; I want you to forgive me.'
He came nearer to her, and studied her face, in dread lest there should be something behind. 'I am always ready to forgive and listen to you,' he said sadly.
She perceived that she had, indeed, given him much pain, and was softened, and anxious for him to be comforted by seeing that her fault, at least, was not the vanity and heartlessness that he supposed.
'It was very wrong of me to answer you as I did yesterday,' she said. 'I know it was my own fault that Lord St. Erme was allowed to follow us.'
'And why did you consent!'
'I don't know. Yes, I do, though; but that makes it worse. It was because my perverse temper was vexed at your warning me,' said Theodora, looking down, much ashamed.
'Then you never meant to accept him!' exclaimed her father.
'No, not exactly that; I thought I might,' said she, slowly, and with difficulty.
'Then what has produced this alteration?'
'I will tell you,' said she, recalling her resolution. 'I did not know how much I cared for Percy Fotheringham. Yesterday there came a foolish report about his forming another attachment. I know it was not true; but the misery it gave me showed me that it would be sin and madness to engage myself to another.'
Lord Martindale breathed more freely. 'Forgive me for putting the question, it is a strange one to ask now: were you really attached to Percy Fotheringham?'
'With my whole heart,' answered Theodora, deliberately.
'Then why, or how--'
'Because my pride and stubbornness were beyond what any man could bear,' she answered. 'He did quite right: it would not have been manly to submit to my conduct. I did not know how bad it was till afterwards, nor how impossible it is that my feelings towards him should cease.'
'And this is the true history of your treatment of Lord St. Erme!'
'Yes. He came at an unlucky moment of anger, when Violet was ill, and could not breathe her saving influence over me, and I fancied-- It was very wrong, and I was ashamed to confess what I have told you now.'
'Have you given him this explanation?'
'I have.'
'Well, I am better satisfied. He is a most generous person, and told me he had no reason to complain of you.'
'Yes, he has a noble character. I am very sorry for the manner in which I have treated him, but there was nothing to be done but to put an end to it. I wish I had never begun it.'
'I wish so too!' said Lord Martindale. 'He is grievously disappointed, and bears it with such generous admiration of you and such humility on his own part, that it went to my heart to talk to him, especially while feeling myself a party to using him so ill.'
'He is much too good for me,' said Theodora, 'but I could not accept him while I contrasted him with what I have thrown away. I can only repent of having behaved so badly.'
'Well! after all, I am glad to hear you speak in this manner,' said her father.
'I know I have been much to blame,' said Theodora, still with her head bent down and half turned away. 'Ever since I was a child, I have been undutiful and rebellious. Being with Violet has gradually brought me to a sense of it. I do wish to make a fresh beginning, and to ask you to forgive and bear with me.'
'My dear child!' And Lord Martindale stepped to her side, took her hand, and kissed her.
No more was needed to bring the drops that had long been swelling in her eyes; she laid her head on his shoulder, and felt how much she had hitherto lost by the perverseness that had made her choose to believe her father cold and unjust.
There was another trial for the day. The departure of Lord St. Erme and his sister revealed the state of affairs to the rest of the world; Mrs. Delaval came to make Lady Martindale a parting visit, and to lament over their disappointment, telling how well Lord St. Erme bore it, and how she had unwillingly consented to his taking his sister with him to comfort him at that dull old place, Wrangerton.
Lady Martindale, as usual, took it very quietly. She never put herself into collision with her daughter, and did not seem to care about her freaks otherwise than as they affected her aunt. Mrs. Nesbit, who had thought herself on the point of the accomplishment of her favourite designs, was beyond measure vexed and incensed. She would not be satisfied without seeing Theodora, reproaching her, and insisting on hearing the grounds of her unreasonable conduct.
Theodora was silent.
Was it as her mother reported, but as Mrs. Nesbit would not believe, that she had so little spirit as to be still pining after that domineering, presuming man, who had thrown her off after she had condescended to accept him?
'I glory in saying it is for his sake,' replied Theodora.
Mrs. Nesbit wearied herself with invectives against the Fotheringhams as the bane of the family, and assured Theodora that it was time to lay aside folly; her rank and beauty would not avail, and she would never be married.
'I do not mean to marry,' said Theodora.
'Then remember this. You may think it very well to be Miss Martindale, with everything you can desire; but how
