I also soon learned that Dorothy was the child of her father, gentle, loving, and tender beyond the naming, but also wilful, violent, and fierce to the extent that no command could influence her.
First I shall speak of the change within myself.

I will soon be done with so much "I" and "me," and you shall have Dorothy to your heart's content, or trouble, I know not which.
Soon after my arrival at Haddon Hall the sun ushered in one of those wonderful days known only to the English autumn, when the hush of Nature's drowsiness, just before her long winter's sleep, imparts its soft restfulness to man, as if it were a lotus feast.

Dorothy was ostentatiously busy with her household matters, and was consulting with butler, cook, and steward.

Sir George had ridden out to superintend his men at work, and I, wandering aimlessly about the hail, came upon Madge Stanley sitting in the chaplain's room with folded hands.
"Lady Madge, will you go with me for a walk this beautiful morning ?" I asked.
"Gladly would I go, Sir Malcolm," she responded, a smile brightening her face and quickly fading away, "but I--I cannot walk in unfamiliar places.
I should fail.

You would have to lead me by the hand, and that, I fear, would mar the pleasure of your walk." "Indeed, it would not, Lady Madge.