Indeed, she was full of pity for him. She had learned from
Tinker something of the story of his earlier life, and like a good woman
she wished she might give him the happiness he had missed. She did not
know how strongly she longed to give him that happiness, much less was
she able to distinguish where pity merged into love. Now she was in a
great dread of her father's millions. She knew well enough that with
many, indeed, with most men of Sir Tancred's class they would have been
primroses, very large primroses, on the path of love; she feared that if
he was the man she thought him, and she would not have him any other,
they would prove barriers on that path, hard indeed to surmount. She
dressed in no very good spirits, and came downstairs to find her father
awaiting her in the hall, ready to stroll out and hear how the world had
gone with her.
Sir Tancred also awoke with the sense of something unpleasant having
happened. But at first he could not for the life of him remember what it
was. Then he began to consider the change which would be brought about
by the irruption of the millionaire. He resented it. He found the
prospect of Tinker's losing Dorothy's services exceedingly disagreeable.
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