Her mind had long been torn, and at the eleventh hour when she was on her way to meet her fate in Dorrimore she still hesitated.

If she really loved Dorrimore there would have been no hesitation.

But she had never met any man who did more than flatter her and gratify the pleasure she felt at being admired.
Her decision was in the balance.

The weight of a feather would turn the scale one way or another.

The feather came in the shape of Dorrimore himself.