IT was a cruel shock to the girl. She had never heard her father speak like that before; indeed, she would not have deemed him capable of such harshness. For many years May and her father had been the best of friends; indeed, their relationship had been more like brother and sister than anything else. She had shared in Sir George's pleasures, she had known most of his troubles, and generally had been allowed to do exactly as she pleased. And if she had a proper sense of pride, it was Sir George who was mainly responsible for it. He had never forgotten that he was the master of Haredale Park, and that the family had lived there three centuries and more. He had always spoken his mind freely to May on the subject of new-comers and interlopers. He had declared that no matter what his neighbours might do, not one of them should ever cross his threshold; he had apparently despised these new rich from the bottom of his heart. It seemed only the other day that Sir George had spoken most contemptuously about Raymond Copley. A few months before and he would have laughed to scorn any suggestion on Copley's part to become one of the family.

"We need not envy them, my dear," Sir George had said over and over again. "After all, money is not everything. Of course, one has to be agreeable to these people in the hunting-field and when one meets them at neighbouring houses, but, thank goodness, we need not go farther than that. You won't have much when I die, but so long as you marry the right sort of man I shall be quite content with your choice. I can trust you, I know."

These recollections crowded into May's mind as she stood face to face with her father. It struck her almost with painful force that she was making his acquaintance for the first time. This was another Sir George Haredale, of whom she had not the slightest knowledge. He looked hard and sullen, and met her eye with difficulty. May hoped he would have the grace to be ashamed of himself, that this was an outburst for which he would apologize presently.

"Do you really know what you are saying?" she murmured. "I hope I have not mistaken you, father."

"You have not mistaken me at all," Sir George said sullenly.

"Then I am to understand that it is your wish that I should become the wife of Mr. Raymond Copley?" "I thought I had made it quite plain."

"You are so set upon this match that unless I marry this man I am no longer to consider Haredale Park as my home."

Sir George nodded. He had not the courage to put it as plainly as that.

"I will try to be calm," May went on. "But this has been a terrible blow to me. Even now I can hardly believe my ears. Do you mean to say that if I refuse Mr. Copley I am to be turned out of house and home?"

"Don't be dramatic," Sir George interrupted.

"I didn't know that I was. I only want to have a clear understanding. Oh, the thing is monstrous. You cannot realize what you are saying. If you have no sort of feeling for yourself or me, just try to imagine what our friends will say. We know many people who would decline to be on visiting terms with Mr. Copley. There are lots of houses where he could not go. Even if I were fond of the man and could meet your wishes, it would be a long time before certain of our neighbours forgave me. What will you say when you meet them racing, or hunting, or shooting? Do you suppose this thing can be kept quiet? Do you suppose everybody won't know why I left home? Do you believe for a moment that common gossip will not say that you turned your daughter out because she refused to marry a man whom you declined to call upon for months after he came here? I know such things happen in the case of boys, but I never yet heard of a father in your position who sent his daughter away because she refused to sell herself to a person whom she both disliked and despised."

Sir George listened uncomfortably. He was violating all his best feelings. He knew what a sorry figure he must be cutting in the eyes of his daughter. Moreover, every word she said was true. This thing would get out. It would be a dainty morsel in the mouths of all the gossips, and, though he could rely upon May to be silent, other tongues would not be bridled. But he comforted himself with the assurance that things would never go as far as that, for when May saw that he was in earnest she would yield. There might be tears and reproaches, but in the end she would bow to his wishes, and though Copley was not popular, yet he would be accepted in time on the strength of being Sir George Haredale's son-in-law.

"There are reasons why this must be," he said. "I am under obligations to Copley, under great obligations. Besides, he is paying you the greatest compliment in his power. There are many girls——"

"Oh, what have the majority of girls to do with me? I am not like them. I have not been trained in the same school. I know lots of my friends regard matrimony as a matter of business. They are too idle and selfish to think of anything but themselves. They would deem it a fine thing to have the spending of Mr. Copley's money. But I detest the man too much for that. He is not a gentleman, his manners are not good, and I am sure he is neither honest nor straightforward. I would do anything in my power to help you, but if it comes to this, that Haredale Park can only be preserved to us by this hateful marriage, then I decline. It is too great a sacrifice to ask of your daughter. Oh, how can you even make the suggestion?"

"You will think better of it," Sir George said.

"Never! I have said the last word. I will not allude to it again, and, unless you take back what you have said, I will accept you at your word and go out into the world and earn my own living. Don't mention it again."

Sir George looked uneasily at his daughter. Her austere sternness disturbed him. He said that Copley was coming over later in the evening to hear what May had to say on the matter.

"Very well," she answered, "I am rather glad of that. I shall be able to settle this thing for ever."

She turned and swept from the room. She was glad she had kept the tears out of her eyes. She was glad Sir George little knew how terribly he had wounded her. For the rest of the day May went about the house as though nothing had happened. She had a smile and a pleasant word for her visitor, so that even Sir George took heart of grace and deluded himself with the idea that his firmness had not been misplaced. It was only when Copley came that he found out how mistaken he was. Copley had no difficulty in getting May to himself, for Alice Carden was deeply engrossed in a book, and Sir George was sitting over his cigar in the library. At the very first hint of the reason for his visit May turned to him.

"I think I know what you are going to say," she observed. "I shall be glad to have this matter finally settled. Oh, no, I don't mean what you do at all. Will you be good enough to come to the library with me, because I should like my father to hear what passes between us? I won't detain you more than a few minutes, and it is the best way."

The self-satisfied smile died from Copley's lips. He had not expected a reception like this, and it surprised him, too, to see this uncompromising dignity in May's manner. Perhaps she had never been more alluring or more attractive in his eyes than she was at that moment, and he knew, too, without any words from her, that he was on the eve of defeat.

"Very well," he said, "though I don't see why we shouldn't settle it between us. It is our affair."

May made no reply. She walked into the library, followed by Copley. Sir George turned eagerly as they entered. "Ah, well?" he said with an uneasy attempt at playfulness. "I see you have come to an understanding."

"I trust so," May said quietly, "though I don't think it is the understanding you anticipate. This is a very hateful position for me, and I would give a good deal to be out of it. But it would be cowardly if I tried to shirk my duty. Mr. Copley has already asked me to be his wife, and I refused him. I do not wish to give him any pain, but I had to put the matter plainly because he is a persistent man and not inclined to take 'No' for an answer. I understand he has come here to-night to renew his offer. Now, Mr. Copley, I have to tell you before my father that what you ask is impossible. I am old-fashioned enough to prefer happiness to money, and I could not marry a man whom I did not love. I have never liked you, I never could like you, in fact, I hope you won't think me rude when I say that I dislike you exceedingly. Besides, there is something unmanly and cowardly in pursuing a defenceless girl in this way. If you have one spark of proper feeling you will never allude to this topic again. I don't want to appeal to your pride. I think I have said enough."

Copley said nothing at the moment. He was struggling to obtain the mastery of himself. His face flushed angrily. There was a nasty glitter in his eyes. "Does she understand?" he asked.

"It is not my fault if she doesn't," Sir George muttered.

"It is because I do understand," May said, "that I am all the more determined in my refusal."