But she had not long been sitting by herself, and feeling the bitterness of defeat, before she determined, with womanly wit, to have a triumph somewhere; so she ran at once to her father’s room, and he of course was at home to her. “If you please, dear papa, you must shut your books, and you must come into this great chair, and you must not shut even one of your eyes, but listen in the most respectful manner to all I have to say to you.” “Well, my dear,” Sir Roland answered; “what must be must. You are a thorough tyrant. The days are certainly getting longer; but they scarcely seem to be long enough for you to torment your father.” “No candles, papa, if you please, as yet. What I have to say can be said in the dark, and that will enable you to look at me, papa, which otherwise you could scarcely do. Is it true that you are plotting to marry me to that odious Captain Chapman?” Sir Roland began to think what to say; for his better nature often told him to wash his hands of this loathsome scheme. “Are you so tired of me already,” said the quick girl, with sound of tears in her voice; “have I behaved so very badly, and shown so little love for you, that you want to kill me so very soon, father?” “Alice, come Alice, you know how I love you; and that all that I care for is your own good.” “And are we so utterly different, papa, in our tastes, and perceptions, and principles, that you can ever dream that it is good for me to marry Mr. Chapman?” “Well, my dear, he is a very nice man, quiet, and gentle, and kind to every one, and most attentive to his father. He could place you in a very good position, Alice; and you would still be near me. Also, there are other reasons making it desirable.” “What other reasons, papa, may I know? Something about land, I suppose. Land is at the bottom of every mischief.” “You desperate little radical! Well, I will confess that land has a good deal to do with it.” “Papa, am I worth twenty acres to you? Tell the truth now, am I?” “My darling, you are so very foolish. How can you ask such a question!” “Well, then, am I worth fifty? Come now, am I worth as much as fifty? Don’t be afraid now, and say that I am, if you really feel that I am not.” “How many fifties--would you like to know? Come to me, and I will tell you.” “No, not yet, papa. There is no kiss for you, unless you say I am worth a thousand!” “You little coquette; You keep all your coquetries for your own old father, I do believe.” “Then tell me that I am worth a thousand, father--a thousand acres of good rich land with trees and hedges, and cows and sheep--surely I never can be worth all that: or at any rate not to you, papa.” “You are worth to me,” said Sir Roland Lorraine--as she fell into his arms, and sobbed, and kissed him, and stroked his white beard, and then sobbed again--“not a thousand acres, but ten thousand--land, and hearth, and home, and heart!”