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Trevick was a personage at St. Ewalds. Certainly
he lacked money to support the dignity of his
name, and therefore had been compelled to let
Trevick Grange to a South African millionaire,
and take up his abode in the Dower House at the
Cornish watering-place. But he came of an old
and distinguished family, and possessed to all
appearances great force of character. Also, he
was an ardent churchman, and a philanthropist.
Finally, he had a most charming daughter, who
was both clever and beautiful: two things not
invariably found together.
Dericka Trevick — her quaint Christian name was
a source of wonder to archaeologists, since it
was that of the Babylonian fish-goddess, could
have figured as Titania at a fairy solemnity.
She was small and slender, golden-haired and
blue-eyed, with a bright manner and a mercurial
temperament. Such a description gives an
impression of insipidity and shallowness. But
Dericka was neither insipid nor shallow. Her
will was strong, her judgement quick and
unerring, and she ruled the Dower House. Sir
Hannibal obeyed her, although he saved his
dignity by pretending that such obedience was
but fatherly kindness, which could refuse
nothing to his household fairy. She dominated
the mild, lean governess, Miss Warry, who had
taught her everything, and she kept a tight hand
over the three domestics who formed Sir
Hannibal’s modest establishment. In spite of her
looks and manner Dericka was strong, and could
have passed for an Elizabeth or Catherine in
“I am very angry,” pouted the maid.
“In heaven’s name, why?” questioned the bachelor.
“You have, so to speak, bought me.”
“Impossible: your price is prohibitive.”
“Indeed, when a thousand pounds—”
“You are worth fifty and a hundred times as much.
“That interjection doesn’t answer my question.”
“I don’t think it is one which needs answering,”
said the young man lightly; “there are more
important things to talk about than pounds,
shillings, and sordid pence.”
“Oh, indeed! Such as—”
“Love, on a day such as this is. Look at the sky,
blue as your eyes; at the sunshine, golden as
“Warm as your affection, you should say.”
“Affection! So cold a word, when I love you.”
“To the extent of one thousand pounds.”
“Lucy, you are a—woman. That money did not buy
your love, but the consent of your step-father
to our marriage. Had I not humored his whim, he
would have insisted upon your marrying Random.”
Lucy pouted again and in scorn...
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