“Ah, you will; and then you will remind me of my dear mother. She knew how to command; but as for poor dear papa, he is very disappointing. In selecting an admiral for my parent, I made sure of being ordered about. Instead of that--now I'll show you--there he is in the next room, inventing a new system of signals, poor dear--” She threw the folding-doors open. “Papa dear, shall I ask Charles to dinner to-day?” “As you please, my dear.” “Do you think I had better walk or ride this afternoon?” “Whichever you prefer.” “There,” said Bella, “I told you so. That is always the way. Papa dear, you used always to be firing guns at sea. Do, please, fire one in this house--just one--before I leave it, and make the very windows rattle.” “I beg your pardon, Bella; I never wasted powder at sea. If the convoy sailed well and steered right I never barked at them. You are a modest, sensible girl, and have always steered a good course. Why should I hoist a petticoat and play the small tyrant? Wait till I see you going to do something wrong or silly.” “Ah! then you _would_ fire a gun, papa?” “Ay, a broadside.” “Well, that is something,” said Bella, as she closed the door softly. “No, no; it amounts to just nothing,” said Sir Charles; “for you never will do anything wrong or silly. I'll accommodate you. I have thought of a way. I shall give you some blank cards; you shall write on them, 'I think I should like to do so and so.' You shall be careless, and leave them about; I'll find them, and bluster, and say, 'I command you to do so and so, Bella Bassett'--the very thing on the card, you know.” Bella colored to the brow with pleasure and modesty. After a pause she said: “How sweet! The worst of it is, I should get my own way. Now what I want is to submit my will to yours. A gentle tyrant--that is what you must be to Bella Bassett. Oh, you sweet, sweet, for calling me that!” These projects were interrupted by a servant announcing luncheon. This made Sir Charles look hastily at his watch, and he found it was past two o'clock. “How time flies in this house!” said he. “I must go, dearest; I am behind my appointment already. What do you do this afternoon?” “Whatever you please, my own.” “I could get away by four.” “Then I will stay at home for you.” He left her reluctantly, and she followed him to the head of the stairs, and hung over the balusters as if she would like to fly after him. He turned at the street-door, saw that radiant and gentle face beaming after him, and they kissed hands to each other by one impulse, as if they were parting for ever so long. He had gone scarcely half an hour when a letter, addressed to her, was left at the door by a private messenger. “Any answer?” inquired the servant. “No.” The letter was sent up, and delivered to her on a silver salver. She opened it; it was a thing new to her in her young life--an anonymous letter.