It was exactly what Lesley intended to do, and yet she felt hurt by the slightly contemptuous pity of his tone. "I have no doubt that I shall be very happy," she said, steadying her voice as well as she could; "and I hope that you will not concern yourself about me." "I should not have time to do so if I wished," he answered coolly. "I never concern myself about anything but my proper business, which is _not_ to look after girls of eighteen----" "Then why did you send for me here?" she asked, with lightning rapidity. The question seemed to surprise him. He raised his eyebrows as he looked at her. "That was a family arrangement made many years ago," he answered at last deliberately. "And I think it was a wise one. There is no reason why you should grow up in utter ignorance of your father. And I prefer you to come when you have arrived at something like a reasonable age, rather than when you were quite a child. As you _are_ at a reasonable age, Lesley," with a lightening of his tones, "I suppose you have some tastes, some inclinations, of your own? What are they?" It must have been obstinacy that prompted Lesley's answer. "I have no taste," she said, looking down. "No inclinations." "Are you not fond of music?" "I play a little--a very little." "Oh." The tone was one of disappointment. "Art? Drawing--carving--modelling--any of the fads young ladies are so fond of now-a-days?" "No." "Do you read much?" "No." "What do you do, then?" "I can embroider a little," said Lesley, calmly. "The nuns taught me. And I can dance." She raised her eyes and studied the stormy expressions that flitted one after another across her father's face. She knew that she had taken a delight in provoking him, and she wondered whether he was not going to retaliate by an angry word. But after a few moments' pause he only said-- "Would you like any lessons in singing or drawing now that you are in town?" The offer was a temptation to Lesley. Yes, she would dearly have liked some good singing lessons; her mother even had suggested that she should take them while she was in London. She was the fortunate possessor of a voice that was worth cultivating, and she longed to make the best of her time. But she had come with the notion that her father was poor, and that she must not be an unnecessary expense to him; and this idea had not been counteracted by any appearance of luxury or lavish expenditure in her London home. The furniture, except in her own room, was heavy, old-fashioned, and decidedly shabby. Her father seemed to work very hard. He had already promised her a maid; and Lesley could not bear to ask him for anything else. So she answered-- "No, I think not, thank you." There might be generosity, but there was also some resentment and hot temper at the bottom of Lesley's reply. This was a fact, however, that her father did not discern. He merely paused for a moment, nodded his head once or twice, and seemed slightly disconcerted. Then he said--