Dorothy was convinced of her father's danger without knowing its cause or what form it might take; and she filled up with a resolution to do whatever she could, saving only the acceptance of Storri and his love, to buckler him against it.
Nor was this difference which Dorothy made between Mrs.Hanway-Harley and Mr.Harley to be marveled at; for just as a mother exerts more influence over a son than would his father, so will a father have weight with a daughter beyond any that her mother might possess.
While Dorothy remained firm and brave as Mr.Harley revealed his troubles and their remedy, she broke down later when she found herself in her own room.

She did not call her maid; she must be alone.

What had transpired began to come over her in such slow fashion that she was given time to fully feel the ignoble position into which she had fallen.
She must not see the man whom she adored; she must meet--with politeness even if she could not with grace--the man whom she loathed.

To one of Dorothy's spirit and fineness there dwelt in this an infamy, a baseness, of which Mr.Harley with his lucky coarseness of fiber escaped all notice.
Throwing herself on the bed, Dorothy burrowed her face in the pillow and gave her tears their way.

It was the happiest impulse she could have had; when the tears were dried, and in the calm of that relief which was their afterglow, she considered what she had to do.