"You will find her on the terrace." The servant left the room, but soon returned, saying that Mistress Dorothy wanted no supper.
"Tell her to come to the table whether she wants supper or not.

Tell her I will put a stop to her moping about the place like a surly vixen," growled Sir George.
"Don't send such a message by a servant," pleaded Lady Crawford.
"Then take it to her yourself, Dorothy," exclaimed her brother.
Dorothy returned with her aunt and meekly took her place at the table.
"I will have none of your moping and pouting," said Sir George, as Dorothy was taking her chair.
The girl made no reply, but she did not eat.
"Eat your supper," her father commanded.

"I tell you I will have no--" "You would not have me eat if I am not hungry, would you, father ?" she asked softly.
"I'd have you hungry, you perverse wench." "Then make me an appetite," returned the girl.

I never heard more ominous tones fall from human lips.

They betokened a mood in which one could easily do murder in cold blood, and I was surprised that Sir George did not take warning and remain silent.
"I cannot make an appetite for you, fool," he replied testily.
"Then you cannot make me eat," retorted Dorothy.
"Ah, you would answer me, would you, you brazen, insolent huzzy," cried her father, angrily.
Dorothy held up her hand warningly to Sir George, and uttered the one word, "Father." Her voice sounded like the clear, low ring of steel as I have heard it in the stillness of sunrise during a duel to the death.
Madge gently placed her hand in Dorothy's, but the caress met no response.
"Go to your room," answered Sir George.
Dorothy rose to her feet and spoke calmly: "I have not said that I would disobey you in regard to this marriage which you have sought for me; and your harshness, father, grows out of your effort to reconcile your conscience with the outrage you would put upon your own flesh and blood--your only child." "Suffering God!" cried Sir George, frenzied with anger and drink.