‘No, I am not tired of my boat,’ she cried passionately. ‘I love it with all my heart, and the dear river, and this place, and Madoline—and you—if you would only let me love you. Father,’ she said in a low tremulous voice, coming hurriedly to her father and kneeling at his feet, with clasped hands uplifted beseechingly, ‘there are times in a woman’s life when a light shines suddenly upon her, showing her where her duty lies. I believe that it is my duty to go back to school, somewhere in France, or Germany, where I can get on with my education and grow serious and useful, as a woman ought to be. It will be very hard, it will be parting from all I love best in the world, but I feel and know that it is my duty. Let me go, dear father. The outlay of a few pounds cannot affect you.’ ‘Can it not? That shows how little you know of the world. When a man is overweighted as I am in this place, living up to every sixpence of his income, and so fettered that he cannot realise an acre of his estate, every hundred he has to spend is of moment. Your education has been a costly business already; and I distinctly refuse to spend another sixpence on it. If you have not profited by my outlay, so much the worse for you. Get up, child.’ She was still on her knees, looking at him in blank despair. ‘This melo-dramatic fooling is the very last thing to succeed with a man of my stamp. I detest heroics.’ ‘Very well, father,’ she answered in a subdued tone, strangling her sobs and standing straight and tall before him. ‘I hope if you should ever have cause to blame me for anything in the future you will remember this refusal to-day.’ ‘I shall blame you if you deserve blame, you may be sure of that,’ he answered harshly. ‘And never praise me when I deserve praise, and never love me, or sympathise with me, or be a father to me—except in name.’ ‘Precisely,’ he said, looking downward with a gloomy brow. ‘Except in name. And now be kind enough to leave me. I have a good many letters to write.’ Daphne obeyed without a word. When she was in the corridor outside, and had shut the door behind her, she stopped for a few moments leaning against the wall, looking straight before her with a countenance of inexpressible sadness. ‘It was the only thing I could do,’ she murmured with a heavy sigh. Sir Vernon told his elder daughter that afternoon of Daphne’s absurd fancy about going back to school. ‘Did you ever hear of such a mass of inconsistency?’ he exclaimed angrily. ‘After worrying you continually with appealing letters to be brought home, she is tired of us all and wants to be off again in less than six months.’ ‘It is strange, papa, especially in one who is so thoroughly sweet and loving,’ said Madoline thoughtfully. ‘Do you know I’m afraid it must be my fault.’ ‘In what way?’ ‘I have been urging her to continue her education; and perhaps I may have inadvertently given her the idea that she ought to go back to school.’