Do not drive me from you." Sir George, eager to crush in the outset any disposition to oppose his will, grew violent and threatened his daughter with dire punishment if she were not docile and obedient.
Then said rare Dorothy:-- "It would indeed be a great match." Greater than ever will happen, she thought.

"I should be a countess." She strutted across the room with head up and with dilating nostrils.

The truth was, she desired to gain her liberty once more that she might go to John, and was ready to promise anything to achieve that end.

"What sort of a countess would I make, father ?" "A glorious countess, Doll, a glorious countess," said her father, laughing.

"You are a good girl to obey me so readily." "Oh, but I have not obeyed you yet," returned Dorothy, fearing that her father might be suspicious of a too ready acquiescence.
"But you will obey me," answered Sir George, half in command and half in entreaty.
"There are not many girls who would refuse the coronet of a countess." She then seated herself upon her father's knee and kissed him, while Sir George laughed softly over his easy victory.
Blessed is the man who does not know when he is beaten.
Seeing her father's kindly humor, Dorothy said:-- "Father, do you still wish me to remain a prisoner in my rooms ?" "If you promise to be a good, obedient daughter," returned Sir George, "you shall have your liberty." "I have always been that, father, and I am too old to learn otherwise," answered this girl, whose father had taught her deception by his violence.
You may drive men, but you cannot drive any woman who is worth possessing.
You may for a time think you drive her, but in the end she will have her way.
Dorothy's first act of obedience after regaining liberty was to send a letter to Manners by the hand of Jennie Faxton.
John received the letter in the evening, and all next day he passed the time whistling, singing, and looking now and again at his horologue.